


A(r)mour

by Sinnatious



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Break Up, Emotional Baggage, Endgame Akihiko/Hiroki, Heartbreak, Hiroki-centric, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinnatious/pseuds/Sinnatious
Summary: Hiroki just keeps getting his heart broken, again and again and again, like a fool who doesn’t know when to quit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rather old fic that I'm finally getting around to posting onto Ao3.
> 
> This is Hiroki-centric, primarily his point of view, and honestly probably everyone else gets the short end of the characterisation stick, so consider that fair warning if you don't want to see some characters in a bad light.
> 
> I have no idea why I was so compelled to write a Junjou Romantica fanfic. Well, more accurately it’s Junjou Egoist, because Hiroki's far and away my favourite character and honestly a lot of rest of it frustrates me. But then maybe that’s why. There was just enough to like in Junjou Romantica that I can’t quite leave it alone. So here we are. 
> 
> In this fic, I use sans and senseis where appropriate (since sensei has more or less passed cleanly into the common English vernacular and I can’t get away from Nowaki using anything but ‘Hiro-san’), for everything else I try to use an English equivalent or leave it off.
> 
> The story starts around episode eight in terms of timeline. I should confess I’ve only seen the first season of the anime and I’m not 100% up to date with the manga, so please consider any timeline inconsistencies as artistic license.

 

 

The train brakes squealed. Misaki Takahashi, college student at Mitsuhashi University, economics major, brown hair, green eyes and at surface glance an entirely ordinary guy, stumbled into the door. The train lurched again as it jolted to a stop, sending him staggering the other way. His shopping bags dropped to the ground, and his shoulder hit something warm.  
  
“Are you okay?” A stranger had caught him before he could tumble head-over-heels down the aisle. Misaki’s face burned in embarrassment.  
  
“I’m fine! Sorry! What I get for day-dreaming.” He gave a nervous laugh, and stooped to pick up his scattered shopping, cursing under his breath.  
  
“It’s no problem.” The man crouched with him, fetching a can of creamed corn rolling away and stuffing it back into one of the bags. “Here, let me help.”  
  
“Thanks!” Misaki said, all but beaming. There  _were_  still genuinely nice people in this world!  
  
The guy was huge – taller even than Akihiko – but he had kind blue eyes and a gentle smile. Their hands touched as he offered over the bags, and their gazes locked. Misaki felt a peculiar kind of nervous excitement rush through him, like the first warm breeze of spring.  
  
“I’m Nowaki Kusama,” the man suddenly blurted. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
That was where Hiroki’s misfortunes all started.

 

………………………

  
  


Hiroki Kamijou, Associate Professor of Literature at Mitsuhashi University, was frowning. This was not an unusual state of affairs, but the dark cloud of anger and depression building over the brunet's head had grown so thick that tiny little thunderheads might as well have been condensing into a miniature typhoon, liable to wreck all in its path.  
  
“Oh! My sweet honey! Were you lonely?” Professor Yoh Miyagi, on the other hand, was the very picture of sunshine and joviality as he traipsed into the room, arms laden with yellowed scrolls and weathered tomes. He didn’t wait for an answer – dumping the whole lot on the already-messy coffee table with a heavy  _thump_. “This will cheer you up! A first-rate haul at the second-hand bookstore!”  
  
“Hn.” Hiroki barely heard, glaring at the criteria sheet he’d been working on for the past hour as though it were personally responsible for every grievance in his life at that moment.  
  
His attempts to set the piece of paper on fire through the power of sight alone were rudely interrupted by an arm forcefully hooking under his elbow and hauling him out of his seat. “Kamijou~!” The words warbled in a throaty singsong. “Come help an old man shelve and organise all these books!”  
  
“You’re thirty-five, that’s hardly  _old_!” he grumbled, out of reflex more than anything. Nonetheless, the mess on the table got him moving. “Professor! Don’t just dump these things everywhere - I only just finished organising this mess! Honestly…” He continued muttering to himself as he sorted through the latest haul, cataloguing by author and genre.  
  
Miyagi just hummed a cheerful tune as he started unfurling and examining the scrolls. “You’re unusually cranky today. Something bothering you?”  
  
Hiroki tensed. “Nothing.” He kept his attention on the hardcover in his hands, finding a home for it on the pre-war era shelves.  
  
The professor, of course, never took the hint to leave a topic well alone. “Problems in paradise, then.” He nodded sagely, as though impressed with his own wisdom.  
  
“It’s  _not_!” Hiroki snapped, and then visibly reined himself in, taking a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help.  
  
“Right, right.” The professor in question didn’t even glance up from his work. “You’re just frowning all the time and staring into space and terrifying all the students worse than normal because everything’s  _fine_.”  
  
“That’s unusually sarcastic, even for  _you_ , Professor.”  
  
Miyagi just slanted him a cheesy grin.  
  
Hiroki didn't normally speak to people about his problems. Hell, he hardly even spoke to  _Nowaki_ about his problems, so when that problem  _was_  Nowaki…  
  
"It really is nothing," he said. "He just hasn't been home much."  
  
Miyagi glanced over at that, cigarette dangling from his lips. He didn’t even need to ask who ‘ _he_ ’ was. "Well, he's an intern, right? Medical types-"  
  
"I know!" Hiroki interrupted irritably. "It's just less than usual. It's no big deal." His voice faltered on the last note.  _Less than usual_  meant he hadn't seen him for over a week, and when he  _had_  seen him Nowaki acted strangely distant. Even the usual notes and phone calls accompanying such absences had been dropping off. It brought back bad memories of a time when every slightly vague note was met with sickening dread, wondering how long he'd be left in limbo  _this_  time.  
  
Miyagi looked pensive. Hiroki waited for the typical joking remark, hackles raised, but none came. "…Is that so?" He turned his attention back to his scrolls.  
  
A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the shuffle of papers and slap of hardcovers on shelving. The room grew orange in the setting sun – the constant muted chatter from beyond the door diminished into reverent silence as the halls emptied with the end of afternoon classes.  
  
It didn’t last, of course. “You know what they say,” Miyagi eventually remarked. “Relationships where you don’t really talk to each other don’t tend to last.”  
  
It wasn’t the first time the professor spat out that platitude – though this time, he wasn’t referring to his own failed marriage.  
  
Hiroki quietly kept shelving the books, and didn’t acknowledge the comment.  
  
When the last of the books had been catalogued and shelved for the day, the professor shooed him out the door. “It’s late. Go home already! You practically live here sometimes!”  
  
Ignoring the utter hypocrisy of that statement, Hiroki gathered his things and left. He  _had_  been staying back late more than usual lately – there simply hadn’t been any point to coming home on time.  
  
The walk home did little to improve his outlook. Clouds gathered overhead to match his mood, and by the time he reached his building fat raindrops were beginning to dot the path.  
  
The door was locked - the apartment dark and empty. He flicked on the light, and moved into the kitchen. Taped on the fridge was, as always, a note, the characters printed in a familiar scrawl.  
  
 _‘I won’t be home tonight. –Nowaki’_  
  
His head thumped against the cool fridge door. “When  _will_  you be home?”

 

………………..

 

Miyagi wondered if he should say anything.  
  
The signs were all there. He’d lived through them himself. Knew what they looked like.  
  
The difference was, he’d never  _really_  been that invested in the relationship. His wife had been tolerable, a good friend, and he'd been there with a perfectly healthy sex drive, and at the age people expected him to settle down. But there hadn’t been much genuine  _feeling_  there, and some days, pretending could be tiring. Once he started to suspect, a mere two years into their marriage, he’d been almost  _relieved_. It let him off the hook, so to speak.  
  
Kamijou, on the other hand…  
  
Well, they’d been having problems long before this. For at least a year, his associate professor had been a constant storm of misery. Then there’d been that incident outside the office, and that night he’d come wandering in from the rain,  _crying_ …  
  
It took a hell of a damn lot to make ‘the Devil Kamijou’ cry.  
  
Which brought him back to his dilemma.  
  
Was Kamijou happier not knowing?  
  
The door knob turned, and the cranky brunet in question all but stomped in.  
  
“Oh, my sweet honey!” Miyagi greeted with his customary smile and hug. “I’ve been waiting for your special brand of sunshine all morning!”  
  
The shoulders were stiff, and seemed to sag for just one moment before, predictably, the arms came up and Miyagi was pushed away. “ _Professor…_ ”  
  
Right. The warning levels in that voice were unusually dire. “Ah, so busy, so busy,” he continued cheerfully, returning to his desk and opening the newspaper.  
  
It really wasn’t his business. But he  _was_  genuinely fond of his associate professor. So much like… well, that was a dangerous path of thought. But it bothered him, just a little, to think of how poorly he’d been treated. He’d never managed to wrangle the full story out of his deeply private colleague, but what little he  _had_  managed to piece together…  
  
Who disappeared for a year without once calling their lover? That had to be an exaggeration, surely? Or one of those ‘accident-at-the-post-office’ scenarios?  
  
To hell with it. “You know, Kamijou…”  
  
“What?” he snapped, quick as a snake snatching a mouse.  
  
His nerve faltered. He could see where the ‘Devil’ nickname came from sometimes.  
  
“How’re things at home? You’re unusually cranky today. Ahhh, it’s putting me off my coffee,” he lamented good-naturedly. Maybe the roundabout route was best after all.  
  
Only silence greeted his question. When he chanced a glance, Kamijou was staring into stony nothingness. “Hey, Kamijou?”  
  
In a flurry of movement, he gathered his papers and stuffed them in his bag, making his way to the door. “They’re fine,” he said shortly. “Not that it’s any of your business. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”  
  
Miyagi shrugged at the rude brush off and lit another cigarette.  
  
Classes, after all, didn’t start for another hour.  
  
Oh well… he’d hoped to plant the seeds of doubt. A bit of forewarning might’ve let the guy down a little more gently.  
  
Nothing more he could do, though. As Kamijou said, it really wasn’t his business.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaping straight into the stuff that will get me flames. Geronimo!

 

The plastic casing protecting his cell phone creaked in his tightening grip.  
  
It was supposed to be Nowaki’s day off.  
  
 _'Sorry. I won’t be home today. Don’t wait up.’_  
  
The characters glowered from the screen, burning into the back of his eyes.  
  
He'd made up his mind to confront his partner. He planned to sit down, explain everything that was bothering him, they'd work it out together, and then he'd get over it and not bring it up again. Nowaki was generally good like that - if you told him what you needed directly, he would deliver. The real struggle was swallowing his pride down enough to get the words out.  
  
But the note on the fridge was the same one that had been there three days ago. His phone calls went unanswered. All he got now were text messages that arrived while he was teaching and went undiscovered until the end of the day.  
  
With a scowl, he slapped the phone shut with unnecessary force. He knew there were emergencies and that people’s lives could hardly compare to his insecurities. It was an accepted fact of their relationship that the days they didn’t see each other outnumbered the days that they did. But how the hell were they supposed to talk and make amends if he  _never_  came home?  
  
He threw his things into his bag, not even caring if corners got creased, and zipped it roughly shut. Storming out of the office, Hiroki barely noticed the yelps from spooked students as ‘The Devil Kamijou’ strode down the hall on a mission.  
  
“If that jerk won’t come home, then I’ll go to him,” he muttered. Less than five minutes later, he sat in a taxi stinking of cigarettes, heading to his boyfriend’s hospital. See if he’d be stuck waiting at home like some lovelorn farmer’s wife!  
  
The second the car stopped moving, he slapped a handful of yen into the driver’s hand and hurried inside without bothering with the change. “It’s not like I’m interfering with his work,” he murmured to himself as he scanned the floor chart for the paediatric department. “It’ll just take a minute.” They could have their tête-à-tête later – he just had to  _see_  him, let him  _know_  that they needed to talk. Book a damn appointment, if he had to.  
  
The lift would take too long – he went straight for the stairs. The hospital, while busy, remained eerily quiet – neither visitors nor patients raised their voices above a murmur, and the interns and nurses hurrying through their rounds seemed to have feet lined with felt. Hiroki found himself softening his own harsh stride in response, his fiery anger dampening in the reverent atmosphere and stark white hallways.  
  
It allowed him to approach the nurses’ station calmly, and ask in a steady voice, “Is Nowaki Kusama available, please?”  
  
“Kusama?” She ran a stubby finger down the patient register. “I’m sorry, I’ll need a moment to check. Are you sure he’s roomed on this floor?”  
  
“Actually, he’s one of the interns.”  
  
“Kusama?” One of the doctors passing the nurses’ station turned back - a blonde man about his age, with sharp eyes and a smile like a snake's. “Who are you?”  
  
Hiroki eyeballed him, just  _daring_  him to tell him to go away. “His roommate.”  
  
His smile stretched. “Really? I’m sorry, the way he talked I expected a girl. Ah, but I guess those kinds of relationships do exist… don’t worry about it, for me, it’s never mattered so much.”  
  
Hiroki stared. “…Right. And you are?”  
  
“I’m Tsumori.” He waited a beat – presumably for some sign of recognition, and seemed disappointed when none came. “If you’re looking for Nowaki, he’s not here. He had the morning shift – he left about, oh, two or three hours ago.”  
  
That couldn’t be right. By the timestamp, that meant his partner sent that message just after  _leaving_  the hospital. If he had the whole afternoon off, why wouldn’t he come home?! “I-I see,” Hiroki stuttered, struggling to keep his composure. “There must have been a mistake. Excuse me.”  
  
“Wait.” Tsumori tore a strip of paper from his notebook and sketched a quick map on it. “Since it seems urgent, here. He mentioned something about heading to this restaurant just down from the hospital – he goes there between shifts sometimes. You might be able to catch him there.”  
  
Hiroki accepted the scribbled map with a murmured thanks and suspicious glance. He didn’t trust the doctor’s sly grin – he’d seen it too often on students who enjoyed pulling cruel pranks.  
  
He wandered out of the hospital. The mid-afternoon sunlight looked pale and watery.  
  
Indecision tore at him, but in the end, his curiosity and insecurity won out over his instinctive dislike of the doctor. With a hat pulled over his hair and his reading glasses resting on his nose – because his eyes were tired, he insisted to himself, not because he was spying - he followed the crude map, not certain what he expected to find, but dread curdling in his stomach all the same.  
  
It led to a diner – one not altogether unlike the place he and Nowaki normally frequented, with wide windows and a hand-painted sign and private booths with wooden tables.  
  
Hiroki didn’t see any of that. All he saw was his boyfriend sitting by the window, smiling at some green-eyed laughing college student.  
  
The dread crept up his throat like an encroaching frost.  
  
When they stood as one and twined their fingers together, it spread its icy grip to his heart.  
  
And when in a secluded corner by the cashier, Nowaki brushed his lips fleetingly across the boy’s blushing face...  
  
Hiroki turned, tugged his hat lower, and quietly walked away.  
  
  
………………..  
  
  
The sun still reigned high in the sky, but with the blinds drawn, the apartment was as dark and gloomy as a cave. The rattle of a key in the lock shattered the silence, and for one brief moment blinding light streamed through the open doorway.  
  
“Who is he?”  
  
Nowaki jerked at the voice. “Hiro-san? I thought you had work today.” He fumbled for the light switch as the door swung shut behind him.  
  
It stung. Whether intentional or not, discovering that Nowaki only came to the apartment when he wasn’t there  _hurt_. “I took the afternoon off.  _Who_   _is_   _he_?”  
  
Nowaki looked away, attention diverted to slipping off his shoes, as though it required all of his concentration. “Who are you talking about, Hiro-san?”  
  
“You know who I’m talking about. I saw you.” When still no reply came forth, he added, “At that restaurant by the hospital.”  
  
Tension, now. The shoes were slowly put to the side. “…How did you-?”  
  
“That’s not important.  _Who is he_?”  
  
Nowaki still didn’t look up from the ground – like a dog who knew he’d done wrong and was about to be punished, but didn’t want to face it. “…Misaki Takahashi.”  
  
“Right.”  _Misaki_. He had a name, now. “Did you sleep with him?”  
  
The silence that followed was telling. Nowaki never lied. He simply omitted information.  
  
Hiroki was no stranger to jealousy. He’d spent  _years_  pining after Akihiko, resenting Takahiro’s blind ignorance to everything Hiroki so desperately craved. Yet the spike of pain and possessiveness lancing through him nearly stole his breath away.  
  
 _Keep it together_. _You can get through this_. “We need to talk.”  
  
“You’re right.” Nowaki finally moved into the apartment proper, though didn’t sit down – maybe wanting the extra protection his height gave him. He made eye contact for the first time, and Hiroki was gratified to at least see guilt there. He’d started wondering if his idiot boyfriend even knew what he’d been doing was wrong.  
  
The silence stretched, neither wanting to say the first word. As the offended party, Hiroki felt sure he shouldn’t have to go first, but when it became apparent Nowaki would outwait him to the grave, he crossed his arms and asked, “How did it happen?”  
  
"I wasn't thinking," Nowaki confessed, shifting uncomfortably in place. “We met by chance, and got to talking, and then…” He shrugged helplessly. “One thing led to another. Like when-" He cut himself off.  
  
The unspoken words hung in the air.  _Like when I met you._  
  
Oh, he could picture it. He knew his partner well after seven years. He'd stumbled upon the kid somehow, been seized by the urge, and then pursued him without once thinking about the consequences.  
  
Nowaki was forever kind and forgiving and generous. But Hiroki knew better than anyone that when it came to his feelings, his partner could be unintentionally selfish. He'd blurt out whatever he wanted with no regard for fragile feelings or time or place or propriety. He'd been so concerned about studying and becoming 'worthy' of him that for a whole year he'd never called or actually sent a letter, without once considering what the  _complete lack_   _of contact_  might be doing to his long term partner. And he was impulsive to a ridiculous degree - how else to explain someone who suddenly packed up and went to study abroad after a single conversation, or who stole keys from people's locks, or dragged strangers along to a picnic after a chance meeting.  
  
Yes, he could picture it very clearly.  
  
“This is such a double-standard. You stood me up in the rain, and then nearly punched Professor Miyagi out when he tried to kiss me afterwards. What did  _I_  do to deserve this?” Was his voice shaking? His clenched his fists tighter, willing himself to hold steady.  
  
“Nothing,” Nowaki said. “This isn’t Hiro-san’s fault.”  
  
“Of course it’s not my fault!” It didn’t feel that way, though. Inside, he was left wondering. Was he not good enough anymore? Unsatisfying in bed? Too old and unattractive? Had he been neglecting him? Every insecurity he’d ever harboured about their relationship came rushing back tenfold.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Hiroki grit his teeth. “ _Why_?” He choked on the word – he didn’t want to ask it, but he had to know.  
  
Nowaki turned his gaze to the ground, holding his arm as he always did when he felt vulnerable or embarrassed. “Misaki-kun, he’s… He’s an orphan, like me. He has a brother, but… we have a lot in common. He works so hard not to be burden on anyone… and I want to relieve his burden, any way that I can.”  
  
His worked his fingers, longing to throw something to vent his building frustration. “And you thought you could best do that by  _dating_  him? While you’re involved with another man?!”  
  
"It's not fair to Hiro-san," Nowaki admitted softly.  
  
"Damn right it's not fair!"  
  
"...So that's why I'm leaving."  
  
Hiroki froze.  
  
That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Nowaki was supposed to apologise, break it off with the other guy, then Hiroki would grumble and reluctantly forgive him and things would go back to the way they were, maybe even with some great make-up sex. That was the way it worked, every time they'd stumbled.  
  
“I didn’t want to hurt you. But I can’t give up Misaki-kun either.” His face twisted, as though the very words caused him pain. "…I'm sorry."  
  
 _He's bluffing_.  
  
He turned and headed for the door, picking up his usual overnight duffel bag on the way. "I'll be back later to get the rest of my things."  
  
 _He's serious_.  
  
Pride rooted his feet to the floor. Denial made his tongue thick in his mouth.  
  
Hiroki didn't move as the door shut softly behind him.  
  
 _It really is over._

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Seven years.  
  
It was a long time for  _any_  relationship – seven years normally meant keeps. Hiroki wasn’t that idealistic, but honestly, he’d grown comfortable.  
  
They had their problems, but after they finally moved in together things mostly settled. They didn't get to see each other as often as they liked, but he'd made a real effort to be more conscientious of his partner. He tried to listen more. To be more affectionate and accommodating. Nowaki tried his best too, calling regularly whenever he was away for more than a couple of days and remembering to leave notes when he was going out, instead of assuming Hiroki magically knew everything.  
  
He never imagined Nowaki would choose some brat over him.  
  
What was so great about this damn Misaki anyway?! He was nothing special in the looks department - short, kind of mousy-looking, utterly ordinary in every way! And sure, they were both orphans, and he was younger, but...  
  
Hiroki slumped against the wall, fingers curling into fists.  
  
He felt humiliated. Wretched. Pathetic.  
  
He should never have followed that map. Living in ignorance, no matter how confusing and painful, was so much better than this.  
  
“Maybe I was fooling myself,” he murmured into the empty room. “We were a bad match from the start.” Nowaki was so direct, and such a romantic - Hiroki might as well have been the complete opposite.  
  
And yet... he still loved him.  
  
Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back furiously. The heart was a cruel organ indeed. Why couldn't it allow him to peaceably let go and move on? Why couldn't the logic so clear in his head reconcile with his emotions? He should be  _angry_. His partner had been  _cheating_  on him, and compounded the insult by dumping him for the other guy! The right reaction would be to cuss up a storm, throw things, and bad mouth him to anyone who’d listen - not sit in his apartment and cry through the night with a broken heart!  
  
He drew his knees to his chest, and sat there in the dark.  
  
It was late. He should eat, but the larger part of him couldn’t fathom the idea of preparing something, or even picking up the phone to order in. He didn’t feel like eating anyway.  
  
He should sleep – it was already past his usual time, and he had to be at the University by eight the next morning. But how was he supposed to go sleep in that bed now, knowing that Nowaki was gone from it forever? Knowing that not even a  _note_  would be there to greet him?  
  
It was stupid. He’d done this before. For a whole year, in fact. He could do it again.  
  
And he  _would_  do it again. He’d adjust.  
  
Just not right now.  
  
  


…………………..

  
  


Misaki felt sure that if his eyes widened any further, they might very well pop straight out of his head.  
  
“You broke up with him?”  
  
Misaki felt kind of bad about it. He'd never intended to break up a couple. He hadn't realised Nowaki had been cheating. In the end, though, he couldn't deny the well of warmth in his chest when he heard Nowaki chose  _him_. And since he had, well, their relationship couldn't have been going that well anyway, could it?  
  
“Yes… I’ve moved out and everything,” Nowaki admitted with a pained smile. “Sorry for not telling you sooner.”  
  
“Well, you broke up with him, so I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” Maybe he should have been more upset, but it was abstract to him, really. He slurped down another helping of noodles, before a thought occurred to him. "Where will you live?"  
  
"…I actually have a house. I only put down the deposit recently, so it’s not quite ready yet, but since it’s closer to the hospital I’ve been sleeping there.” He paused, as though about to say more, but in the end just smiled. “It’s nothing special, really. There’s not much yard and it’s very small, but I wanted to try living in a proper house.”  
  
A house! A real house! He knew medical types were well-off, but even  _interns_?  
  
“That’s really impressive!” The enthusiasm poured out in a jumble of words. “A house! At your age, all on your own! I mean, Usagi-san-” He cut himself off there, stabbed with guilt.  
  
There was a confused look on his friend’s face at the name. Reluctantly, Misaki continued, “Ah. Well, you know, since you were so honest, I should be too. I’ve been kind of…” How did he explain his relationship with Akihiko, really? They slept together semi-regularly, but it was really more like Akihiko molesting him half the time. And they hadn’t really done the traditional dating routine, or properly discussed it, and he could never be sure when Akihiko was being serious or just threatening…  
  
It seemed he didn’t need to explain, though. “Oh.” Nowaki had such a genuinely crestfallen, distressed expression. “I didn’t realise…”  
  
In a panic – he couldn’t  _stand_  being responsible for such a face – Misaki said, “But, um, don’t worry about it! I’ll sort it all out, I promise. I just… have been trying to get the nerve…”  
  
Not entirely true. He’d been sort of swept away by it all. Nowaki was so  _direct_  – like Akihiko in a lot of ways – it was hard to resist when they were together. He always felt guilty about it later, but Nowaki just… pulled him in. And Misaki, well, he’d never been very good at being assertive. Not when it counted.  
  
Misaki didn’t have a lot of experience with relationships. Akihiko had been the first, and while he definitely cared about the man, he still struggled to understand his own feelings. He really didn’t know what he was doing, sometimes.  
  
All the time, actually.  
  
But… he did know that he  _liked_  Nowaki. And that he couldn’t bring himself to give him up. Nowaki… it felt like Nowaki  _really needed_  him. And he was smart, but he wasn’t some sort of freaky  _genius_  like Akihiko. Misaki never felt like a burden, or worried that he was imposing. It was just… fun.  
  
This was what dating someone closer to his own age felt like.  
  
He nodded to himself determinedly.  
  
It was time to do what was right – to do what he should have done, back when his meetings with Nowaki first took a turn for the intimate. Akihiko would be angry, and Misaki felt guilty enough to be sick, but…  
  
If Nowaki could do it, he could too. It was the right thing to do.

  
  


………………….

  
  


Miyagi whistled to himself, nodding with a friendly smile at some passing students on the way to his office. It was still early, but exams were coming up, so the campus was a hive of activity.  
  
The door to the office stood partially ajar. Kamijou must have beaten him in, as usual. Beaming, the Professor grasped the door handle and swung it dramatically wide.  
  
“Oh, my sweet honey-Whoa!”  
  
Kamijou was there, alright. But… “You look like death,” Miyagi stated bluntly.  
  
That earned him a red-eyed glare. “Thanks so much for your opinion, Professor,” was the acidic response. Miyagi winced at the sound – was it just him, or was his voice a little coarse, too? His clothes were rumpled and he wore dark bruises under his eyes, which offset the blood-shot effect nicely – if you were going for the cursed ghoul look.  
  
“Seriously, did you sleep at all last night? That looks like one hell of a hangover. I’m a bit jealous, honestly. Ah, to be young again~”  
  
“I wasn’t drinking.” The reply was short, and no further information volunteered. Miyagi eyed his assistant out of the corner of his eye, concern mounting.  
  
“Maybe you should take the day off,” he said. Those kids who thought they’d been dealing with a devil before might find they’d barely made it past the first circle of hell. “If you’re sick, it’s only going to get worse if you push yourself.”  
  
“I’m fine.” This time his voice was cold and level. Very bad. He snapped the folder he’d been perusing shut with an audible  _snap_.  
  
“What happened?” Miyagi asked, toning his own conduct down to match the mood.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“If this is noth-”  
  
“None of your business,” Kamijou amended. He rummaged in his bag for a minute, and pulled out a compact.  _Makeup_? The wisecrack tingled at the tip of Miyagi’s tongue, but two quick swipes of his thumb and the shadows under the associate professor’s eyes disappeared. If you didn’t look closely, you wouldn’t even notice – especially not when Kamijou settled his reading glasses on his nose a moment later.  
  
When Kamijou saw him looking, he arched an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem?”  
  
Left wrong-footed, Miyagi scrambled for a response. “You know,  _looking_  the part doesn’t  _actually_ make you okay.”  
  
As he watched, though, he could see that familiar armour settling into place, like shutters closing for a storm. Even with all the chinks and the flaws, it was unsettling as always to observe. Maybe  _because_  he could see through it, and the glimpses he caught through the cracks were heart-breaking.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And like I said, it’s none of your business,  _Professor_.” With that frosty dismissal, Kamijou swept from the room, less of a fiery devil and more of a blizzard.  
  
Miyagi frowned.  
  
This was serious.

 

………………….

  
  


“Who is he?” Right then, the darkness surrounding Akihiko put even  _the Devil Kamijou_  to shame. “I’ll  _kill_  him.”  
  
For one minute, Misaki was genuinely terrified Akihiko would do it – half expecting him to procure both a knife and Nowaki from the rift to do the deed right then. “You – you  _can’t_!” he burst out. “I won’t tell you! If you’re going to be like this, I’ll hide from you, and you’ll never see me again!”  
  
The threat was apparently alarming enough to rein Akihiko in, though Misaki couldn’t help but see his fists clench and unclench repeatedly, his eyes glazed as though busy envisioning wrapping his hands around Nowaki’s neck.  
  
No, he  _definitely_  couldn’t tell him who it was. It was up to him to protect Nowaki. He’d made the decision when he went along with it all in the first place. Nowaki couldn’t be hurt because Misaki hadn’t thought things through!  
  
Akihiko studied him, calculating. “What will your brother say?”  
  
Misaki flinched. He’d been keeping secrets enough from his brother as it was. How disappointed would he be if Misaki went and shacked up with a stranger?  
  
“Yeah, well… if you tell him, I’ll tell him about  _you_.” The words tumbled out, and instantly, he wished he could take them back.  
  
It was low. Misaki felt like he’d kicked  _himself_  in the gut for using that tactic, even if Akihiko swore he was totally over Takahiro.  
  
Akihiko let out a growl, and grabbed him by the shoulders. Misaki gasped as he was pushed to the wall, and forceful lips claimed his mouth. “Mmmfph!”  
  
Teeth scraped at his lower lip, a hot tongue plundered his mouth, and fingers dug painfully into his arms. “I won’t let anyone else have you,” Akihiko breathed, his deep baritone trembling against him, their bodies so close he could feel the quiver of every syllable. Misaki tried to push him away, but the novelist pinned his wrist with ease, his other hand sliding down his side, tightening to squeeze his hips, even as he plunged back into another kiss.  
  
Misaki squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his body growing warm, relaxing at the familiar ministrations, the firm stokes of exploring hands and tongue and…  
  
 _Nowaki_.  
  
“I can’t!” Misaki tore away, stumbling as he disentangled himself from Akihiko’s legs, and ran for the door. He scooped up his bags – already packed – in one hand, and threw his keys at a shocked Akihiko with the other. “I’m not one of your  _stuffed toys_. You don’t own me! I made my decision!”  
  
And before Akihiko could protest, or he could lose his nerve, Misaki ran for it.  
  
For once in his life, he’d chosen selfishly.  
  
He wasn’t sure if his heart was pounding from excitement, or fear.

  
  


…………………..

  
  


The incessant thumping on the door coincided nicely with Hiroki’s pounding headache. “I’m coming already,” he growled, folding up the newspaper and picking his way across the piles of books he’d been sorting. Landlord? No, he was paid up for rent. Probably a newspaper or magazine subscription salesman.  
  
Instead, it was a familiar black-haired, blue-eyed medical intern.  
  
“What do  _you_  want?” Hiroki didn’t even try to keep the sourness from his voice. He’d only had the misfortune of crossing paths with his ex-boyfriend once since they broke up, when he’d happened home around the same time Nowaki had been carting some boxes out. For the most part, the signs of Nowaki’s presence had been filtering away over the past two weeks, day by day, as clothes and toiletries and other personal knick knacks gradually disappeared.  
  
Nowaki held up a key ring. “Your keys. I already sorted out the lease with the landlord.” He hesitated. “Can you manage the rent on your own?”  
  
“ _Doctors_  might be rich, but an associate professor at Mitsuhashi still earns more than a medical  _intern_ , idiot. I was renting this place on my own before you moved in.”  
  
Nowaki just gave him a small shrug and even tinier smile, and dropped the keys into his outstretched palm. They felt heavy and cold and jagged against his over-sensitive skin.  
  
“You could have just left them in the post box,” Hiroki grumbled. It would have been better, in fact, so he didn’t have to struggle to hide the sting of finality, the cutting of that final thread.  
  
“I wanted to be sure you got it,” was the simple reply.  
  
“Right.” Then, because civility was the best armour he could employ, muttered, “Thanks.” Anything to hurry this encounter to a faster conclusion. “If that’s all…”  
  
Nowaki hesitated. “You don’t look well,” he said, hand reaching out almost in reflex. “Have you been eating and sleeping properly?”  
  
Hiroki yanked back. His touch felt as though it  _burned_ , layer upon layer of memories blurring together to create an almost physical pain. “I’m  _fine_ ,” he retorted. “And it’s not any of your business anyway.”  
  
“…That’s not fair, Hiro-san. I was just worried.”  
  
"That’s not your job anymore,” he said coldly. “As I was saying, if that’s  _all_ …”  
  
Nowaki bowed his head. “…That’s all, Hiro-san. I’m sorry… for everything.”  
  
 _You’re_   _not forgiven_.  
  
Hiroki didn’t say that. He just closed the door, before his heart could get the better of him.  
  
Begging and crying were unseemly, and fruitless, and stupid. No matter how much he might want to.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

The weekend never seemed to stretch so long before.  
  
In disgust, Hiroki tossed his book to the floor, not even bothering with a bookmark. None of it had sunk in anyway.  
  
His marking was finished. His latest paper had been annotated and proof-read and set aside for Miyagi to look over before submission. His lesson plans were up to date. He’d even gone out to the grocer to buy food he didn’t feel like eating. And his one failsafe guaranteed to make him feel better – reading – didn’t seem to be working.  
  
He switched on the TV, flicking through the channels in irritation. What the hell did he used to do with his time? It wasn’t like Nowaki had ever been home that often anyway – had been gone for an entire year once, even. Granted, he’d been working towards his associate professorship then and didn’t have the same stock of lesson plans he had now, but this was ridiculous!  
  
Restless, he turned the TV off and started tidying up the apartment – not that there was much to tidy. He rifled through some books and came across a box of old literary journals, which he took to the cupboard and started clearing a space for.  
  
Until his hand brushed across a familiar box of letters, and the journals were swiftly forgotten.  
  
Nowaki hadn’t taken it.  
  
He snatched his fingers away as though the box had teeth and glared at it, willing it to disappear. It had the temerity to remain still and silent and very much inside his cupboard.  
  
After a lengthy battle of wills, Hiroki hauled it out and started rifling through it.  
  
Letters. There had to be over fifty of them. He’d read quite a few when he’d first discovered them, but Nowaki inevitably would distract him and make a fuss before he could get through them all.  
  
All those damn letters he’d never sent. He couldn’t believe that Nowaki! Even  _one_  letter would have made that miserable year more tolerable. It wouldn’t have taken much to assuage his doubts. He would have latched onto the tiniest scrap like a drowning sailor.  
  
Automatically, he flipped open an envelope and started drawing the folded paper out.  
  
“…What the hell am I doing?” he asked into the silence.  
  
This was just torturing himself.  
  
His fist clenched, and the letter crumpled in his grasp. With a snarl, he tossed it aside.  
  
He was no longer the most important person in Nowaki’s life. That was all it would have taken to make him satisfied, but he couldn’t even have that.  
  
In a fit, he gathered up the box and the crumpled letter, and dragged the lot outside. He dumped it into the burnable garbage, watching as the envelopes scattered and mingled with the used coffee filters and tissues and advertising flyers.  
  
His arm twitched, fighting the urge to reach in and pull them out. He hadn’t even  _read_  all of them, and leaving something unread to him was…  
  
With a huff, he slammed the skip lid down, then for good measure went and fetched the rubbish from his apartment and threw it on top, burying the letters under old newspapers and empty packets.  
  
He stomped back up to his apartment and slammed the door – damn the neighbours anyway, they could think what they like.  
  
He felt cheated, still.

 

………………………

  
  


“Ne, Hiroki, how do people fall out of love?”  
  
The plastic of Hiroki’s pen creaked dangerously in his grip. It had been a long time since he’d been subjected to one his childhood friend’s self-pitying poetic spirals. “What? What brought this on all of a sudden?”  
  
“I’m depressed,” Akihiko remarked, from where he’d stretched out on the office couch like a psychiatric patient. Or possibly an extremely large cat. Hiroki didn’t turn to check.  
  
"I’m sorry, but I've got my own issues to deal with right now," he groused. “Bad enough you treat me like your personal librarian, I’m  _definitely_  not your psychologist. I’m  _working_ , you know.” He was in no mood to listen to the lovelorn ramblings of the world's biggest Takahiro fan.  
  
Not that Akihiko’s presence was  _entirely_  unwelcome. Hiroki had plenty of good acquaintances to go drinking with if he wanted, but his list of actual friends was short. Throughout childhood there had only been Akihiko. In adulthood, that number failed to expand. It wasn't that he’d been unpopular, more that people never had the chance to get close. As a child, an endless stream of extra-curricular activities ate up the time in which other children played together and bonded. As an adult, he'd grown practised at solitude, preferring the company of books and focusing whole-heartedly on his studies and career. Miyagi counted, perhaps, gradually wearing his way from superior to colleague to friend through persistent familiarity. The only other exception had been Nowaki.  
  
He was still adjusting. That was all. It wasn’t like he was  _lonely_  – he’d managed just fine in the past!  
  
“So cold, Hiroki.”  
  
“Tch.” He turned his attention back to his marking. "Shouldn't you be working? I haven't seen any new books for a while."  
  
"Writer's block," Akihiko explained.  
  
Hiroki scoffed. "You? Writer's block? You haven't put your damn pen down since we were ten." When the expected chuckle didn't follow that statement, he turned his attention to his friend properly. "You're serious?"  
  
Akihiko simply didn't  _get_  writer's block. If he wasn't working on one of his literary novels, he wrote flowery BL trash. Not even his enduring unrequited love for Takahiro dampened his appetite for it - if anything, Hiroki suspected it  _fuelled_  his work.  
  
“Hn.”  
  
He  _was_  serious. “What happened?”  
  
“Oh, now you care?” came the droll response.  
  
Hiroki pegged his pen at the author, who caught it with deceptively quick reflexes.  
  
“If a person breaks up with someone, they should fight to get them back, shouldn’t they? Is that so wrong?” Akihiko continued in a monotone.  
  
The topic struck a little too close to home. The wound, even nearly a month on, stung terribly. Hiroki scowled, and fished for another pen. “If you’re stuck on the plot for one of your romances, why didn’t you just say so?”  
  
“Hnnn.”  
  
Conversations with Akihiko could be exercises in frustration even when Hiroki  _didn’t_  feel like shattered glass. “If it’s a misunderstanding, or a real mistake, they should fight,” he recited, taking off his reading glasses to massage his eyes. He felt tired. He _always_  felt tired, lately. “But if they were genuinely unhappy, doesn’t fighting for them just make them the villain? There’s no point trying to force something that doesn’t work.”  
  
All it did was breed resentment. Clinging to a relationship that had already failed was illogical, and pathetic, and made you look like a loser. That was expressly the sort of man Hiroki never wanted to be.  
  
“…Maybe you’re right.” He heard the flick of a lighter, and a moment later the aroma of smoke curled his way. Hiroki’s scowl deepened. Bad enough Miyagi was always stinking up the office.  _This_  was why he kept half of his books at home.  
  
Akihiko didn’t speak for a while – simply leafing through a book with one hand and smoking with the other. Hiding from his editor, probably, if what he said about writer’s block was true.  
  
“I had a fight with my roommate. He moved out,” Akihiko admitted out of the blue.  
  
Hiroki paused. “Really?”  
  
“Hn.” He sounded depressed about it.  
  
Frankly, Hiroki wasn’t that surprised. It had been a shock to hear Akihiko was living with anyone in the first place. His friend had been reticent on the details, but what glimpses he afforded him painted a very… odd… picture of the household. And Akihiko could be a real nightmare in the mornings. And was hopeless at housework. And had no concept of personal space. And didn’t like people as a general rule.  
  
It was amazing it lasted as long as it did, really.  
  
Since he was Akihiko’s friend, though, all he said was, “He’s an idiot. You live in a damn penthouse. If he could stand you this long, he’ll come crawling back eventually. Enjoy the quiet while you have it and get working on your next book.”  
  
When he cast another glance over his shoulder, Akihiko didn’t look convinced, but gave him a small smile regardless.  
  
“You’re a good friend, Hiroki.”  
  
“Liar,” he grumbled, and turned back to his marking.

  
  


……………………

  
  


It was Friday, late. The clouds gathering all day at last followed through on their threat to open up. Miyagi hurried up the last few steps of stairs as the gentle sprinkles turned to rain.  
  
Fumbling with the load in his arms, he pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket, peering at the address, then with confidence knocked on the door to the apartment. Several thuds came from within, before the soft shuffle of footsteps, then at last the door creaked open to a familiar, if ruffled, visage.  
  
Hiroki Kamijou peered out into the night. "Professor. What are you doing here?"  
  
He held up his prize with a cheery smile. "You forgot your phone. I was in the area, so I thought I'd return it to you."  
  
It was a complete pretext, of course. Normally, Miyagi would have just left the phone there - if Kamijou really needed it he would come back to get it himself. And Miyagi was only in the area for the  _purpose_  of dropping by. Semantics. A Professor of Classical Literature could play them like a piano.  
  
Kamijou eyed him suspiciously, and held out his hand expectantly. "Thanks, but you  _really_ shouldn't have." He stressed his words just a little more than strictly necessary.  
  
Miyagi pulled the phone out of reach. "Ah, so cold. You're not even going to invite me inside in this terrible weather?" He held up his other prize - two boxes of still-steaming takeaway. "I even brought food! You won’t make an old man eat alone, will you?"  
  
 _That_  pretext was a little more see-through. By his expression Kamijou knew it, but gave in with a suffering sigh and opened the door wider. "Fine, come in."  
  
Success. He was so smart. The door shut behind him, muting the patter of rain to a dull background ambience.  
  
He hummed to himself as he slipped off his shoes at the entrance, and squinted. “Ah, it’s kind of dark…”  
  
With a scowl, Kamijou slapped a light switch, wincing at the sudden brightness. The evening news murmured on the TV, barely audible, in the background.  
  
“I’ll just let myself in then…” Miyagi happily strode through to the living room, dropping down next to the table and digging into the bag with the takeaway, all the while eyeballing the apartment for clues.  
  
He was sick of sitting on the sidelines. For close to a month now he'd watched his colleague cover the bags under his eyes with makeup, skip meals, and drink more coffee than what even  _Miyagi_ thought healthy. He evaded every pointed question about his state and went about his business as though everything was normal.  
  
Miyagi couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He needed to meddle.  
  
“Professor-”  
  
“Maaa, maaa, we’re not at work Kamijou, just Miyagi is fine,” he interrupted with a grin. He doubted it would work, but wasn’t it worth a shot?  
  
Kamijou frowned at the noodle box shoved in front of him, and didn’t acknowledge the correction. “Thanks for going to the trouble, but I’m not really that hungry.”  
  
“Nonsense, eat, eat!” He opened the box and shoved a pair of chopsticks into the younger man’s hands. “And don’t try to tell me you ate earlier.”  
  
Kamijou gave him a flat look. “You’re being nosy, Professor.”  
  
He laughed, a trifle nervously, but thankfully his colleague started eating mechanically. Miyagi watched in quiet approval, even if the utter lack of interest in his food made for a depressing sight. He tasted his own experimentally. It was pretty good, even – just a little spicy, and the cabbage and egg and chicken mixed throughout gave it some variety.  
  
To fill the silence while they ate, Miyagi chattered on about the safest subject that lay between them – literature. Kamijou was unresponsive at first, but it didn’t take long before he was arguing the fine points of analysis for one of the second-year coursework assignments and the idiot students who obviously hadn’t read a book  _in their lives_.  
  
“The subtext was practically  _super_ text, and they  _still_  didn’t catch on! Do they even know how to read kanji?! Without that double-meaning, half of the story is lost!”  
  
“The standards have really dropped over the years,” Miyagi agreed. “My fail rate’s nearly doubled since I first started teaching.” He grinned. “Of course, it’s much better now I don’t have to teach the freshmen.”  
  
Kamijou rolled his eyes, muttering an oath under his breath. “Lucky you. How do they even get  _into_  Mitsuhashi without being able to write a proper sentence? I thought the University was supposed to have  _standards_.”  
  
Miyagi shrugged. “Some of the engineering majors are in high demand, and most of the courses require at least a couple of units covering the communication component.”  
  
“That’s no excuse! If you’re going to study literature, you should take it seriously! They can take a foreign language if they’re that desperate for credits!”  
  
Miyagi nodded, and idly wished he’d thought to bring some beer or sake over. Despite sharing an office, they had surprisingly few opportunities to discuss literature at length like this. There was always work demanding to be done, or interruptions from students, or that nagging sense of responsibility that they were working and shouldn’t get side-tracked by having  _fun_ , even if that fun were entirely relevant.  
  
“They all choose Murakami for their book reports,” Kamijou continued in a grumble. “Honestly! Granted the man has talent, but he’s lacking in ambition and depth compared to the early post-war authors. The real literary work is being done by the likes of Tadawa Yoko and Levy Hideo.”  
  
“Well, we are seeing a shift in the focus of subject matter from ideology and philosophy to purely character-driven storylines in contemporaries.” Miyagi paused to chew on some noodles. He swallowed, and continued, “And don’t forget that modern contexts do change the interpretation of classic literature.”  
  
Kamijou dismissed the notion with a flippant wave of his hand. “Rubbish. The true auteurs are timeless. You already know Matsuo Basho’s poetry  _increased_  in popularity for over two centuries after his death.”  
  
He had no choice but to nod agreeably to that. He found himself captivated by the way his colleague’s face animated as he talked, eyes bright and expression constantly shifting as he spoke about his favourite subject. It was such a change from the usual tired neutrality that had taken hold over the past few weeks. It gave him a sense of hyper-reality.  
  
“They can’t even appreciate the lyricism of Mishima.” Kamijou scowled. “Next semester I swear I’m just going to set  _all_  the damn texts.”  
  
Miyagi hummed to himself with a fond smile. “I do love your attitude towards literature.”  
  
Kamijou flushed, and cut his tirade short. “I suppose I should offer you some tea.” He stood up and hurried to the kitchen without waiting for a response, and Miyagi’s grin widened. The associate professor could be cute when he was flustered.  
  
He followed, taking the opportunity to eyeball the apartment a little more thoroughly as his host clattered around the kitchen for mugs and kettle. He hadn’t forgotten his reason for coming here, as entertaining a diversion talking literature could be. There were towers of books  _everywhere_ , which he thoroughly approved of, but aside from that, it felt like there were… gaps. Empty patches that looked out of place.  
  
“…Hey, didn’t you have a roommate?” he asked.  
  
Kamijou’s shoulders stiffened. For a moment, he expected the usual brazen brush-off, but the food and literature talk had apparently done their job of mellowing the associate professor out, as he eventually answered, “He moved out.”  
  
So here they arrived at the crux of the matter. The fire had fled his colleague’s eyes, his face arranged back into a careful mask.  
  
“You dumped him?” It had only been a matter of time until Kamijou found out about the cheating – assuming, of course, that was what it had been. Miyagi was pretty sure.  
  
The kettle rattled harshly against the countertop as the brunet slammed it down. “I didn’t…” he hissed through his teeth, then taking a deep breath, continued in a more controlled tone, “We broke up. He found someone else, if you must know. Stop treating everything like a joke, Professor.”  
  
Miyagi winced. It was a lot worse than he’d expected.  
  
He waved a hand carelessly. “Sorry, sorry.” He dug around in his pockets for a smoke, halfway to lighting it before registering the glare his host was giving him and hastily putting it away again. Right, someone else’s house. "How long were you two together?" If Kamijou was answering questions, he figured he might as well grill him for all the details he could get before he clammed up again. The goodwill he’d generated earlier was quickly evaporating. The odd spell wouldn’t last.  
  
Kamijou kept his eyes firmly forward as he filled the kettle and switched it on. "…Seven years."  
  
Miyagi sucked in a breath.  
  
 _Seven years_.  
  
His  _marriage_  didn’t last  _half_  as long.  
  
No wonder his colleague was in this state.  
  
The silence in the kitchen grew oppressive, the growing bubbling of the kettle impossibly loud in the tension. Kamijou’s shoulders were taut, like a bow waiting to be plucked. Steeling himself.  
  
It wasn’t just the apartment that was full of gaps.  
  
It was an impulse. Kamijou looked so  _alone_  in that kitchen, so small and vulnerable and  _sad._ Miyagi couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted to make that look go away, and to never again see it chase off the fiery passion the man had sported mere minutes ago.  
  
Miyagi didn't believe in love anymore. That part of him died with his teacher.  
  
That didn't stop him getting married.  
  
Nor did it stop him wrapping his arms around his associate professor now.  
  
Kamijou stiffened even further under his embrace. “Professor…?”  
  
He lowered his head to murmur in his ear, “You don’t have to put on such a strong face, you know.”  
  
“What are you-”  
  
Before he could complete his denial, Miyagi spun him around, pressing him up against the cupboard doors. “That perfect armour of yours isn’t holding up too well.”  
  
Then, before Kamijou had the chance to react or protest, pressed their lips together.  
  
He wasn’t sure what he expected. It had been some time since he last kissed Risako, and in the last few months of their marriage those kisses had become terribly chaste.  
  
It wasn’t even that, though. He’d expected kissing a man – especially one as smooth-skinned as Kamijou – to be more or less the same as kissing a woman. One mouth was much like another, right? But it was completely different. Unyielding. The curve of his jaw was harsher. The lips were still soft, but lacked the waxy, slippery coat of lipstick Miyagi had come to take for granted.  
  
The kettle chimed in the background. Kamijou started to lean back and break away, but Miyagi just moved forward, deepening the kiss. He demanded more. Fought for it.  
  
And slowly, his colleague responded.  
  
By the time Miyagi finally let his associate professor break away, they were both flushed. Kamijou’s fingers were twisted in his shirt and a budding erection pressed against his thigh.  
  
Miyagi  _did_  pride himself on being an excellent kisser.  
  
“Professor… you…” Kamijou couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to cry, jump him, or throw books at his head.  
  
Miyagi wrapped him in another hug – partly for dignity’s sake, but mostly so his colleague couldn’t reach for the nearest ammunition. He pulled the other man’s head in close, sliding his fingers through messy brown hair. “Let me take care of you, Kamijou.”  
  
His colleague had gone unnervingly still in his grasp. Miyagi didn’t let it bother him – just held him quietly, for as long as it took. For the right person, he could be patient. He’d had  _infinite_  patience for  _her_.  
  
Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and Kamijou’s hands reached up to clutch at the back of his shirt.  
  
He didn’t need to say anything more.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

For the first time in several weeks, Hiroki didn’t wake up alone.  
  
For one long minute his sleep-fogged brain was convinced the past month had all been a horrible dream, and that it was Nowaki’s warmth at his back and Nowaki’s arm slung over his side.  
  
Except Nowaki’s shoulders weren’t that broad, and his arm wasn’t that heavy, and he didn’t carry the faint odour of cigarettes.  
  
That was when the memory of the previous night rushed back in full clarity, and he groaned.  
  
What the hell had he been thinking? God, they hadn’t even been  _drunk_!  
  
The sound appeared to have woken Miyagi, as the arm around his waist tightened, and a warm waft of breath tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. “…Kamijou?”  
  
The Professor sounded almost confused, but he didn’t seem inclined to move away.  
  
“You cretin,” he said, though there was no real fire to the words. “Taking advantage of me on the rebound?”  
  
“You’ve been moping about for weeks. You should be over the rebound stage already.” Miyagi’s voice was rough from sleep and slurred by laziness. “Besides, you enjoyed it, didn’t you?” His grin was positively indolent.  
  
“You’re a rank amateur. I’m not going to be able to sit down properly all day,” Hiroki grumbled. He ached something fierce. It was no small mercy they didn’t have classes to teach that day.  
  
Miyagi’s brow creased. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Neither of them were. “Is it that bad?”  
  
“I’ll live. But I didn't even think you were gay," Hiroki muttered, rolling onto his back. Sure, the professor was always flirting with him and hugging him and making lewd jokes, and there had been that one time after he came in from the rain, but that was...  
  
Miyagi shrugged, and dragged himself into a sitting position, sheets pooling around his bare thighs. "I'm not."  
  
...That was Miyagi in denial. The guy must have been bi and completely unaware of it.  _Still_ unaware of it, apparently. "Then how do you explain this?" Hiroki asked suspiciously.  
  
His grin turned lecherous. “I might be getting old, but I still have a healthy libido you know.”  
  
Thirty-five was  _not_  old. Especially not when the man in question acted younger than  _he_  did most of time.  
  
“Idiot. I’m not a free ride. If you’re that hard up you should have hired a prostitute.”  
  
“Oi, Kamijou,” Miyagi protested. He reached down, ruffling his hair, then tenderly carding it out of his eyes. “You think so little of me? I’ll have you know I’m very picky.” His fingers settled on his head, still tangled in his hair, a heavy weight that tugged on his soul like iron chains.  
  
“Stop turning everything into a joke, Professor.” He glared, swatting the hand away.  
  
The Professor wasn’t wearing his usual bright-eyed smirk, though. His expression had turned serious, hard… the sort of face he wore only when it came to work. It was the Miyagi he’d admired when he’d first chosen Mitsuhashi to pursue his studies. The quiet passion in his gaze, the razor-sharp wit, and the laser-like focus, reserved entirely for his field of study. He didn’t get to see this Miyagi very often, but whenever he did, it stole his breath away, and he felt like a young idiot of a first-year student all over again.  
  
“I’m not joking.” He dug a cigarette out of his shirt pocket – draped on the nightstand – and lit it. Hiroki was too hypnotised by the sudden change in demeanour to summon any admonishment. “I only ever had one other lover before my marriage, you know. Casual sex isn’t my thing. Not just anyone will do.” His fingers found his way back to his hair, settling there as though his head were Miyagi’s own personal hand rest.  
  
Hiroki could hear the history in those words, but didn’t ask.  
  
He had history of his own, after all. Most of it bad. Akihiko, Shinoda, Haruhiko… Nowaki now, too. He wouldn’t want to talk about it either.  
  
“…I don’t need your pity,” Hiroki eventually mumbled into the stark silence.  
  
Miyagi yawned, and ruffled his hair one last time. “I wouldn’t dream of pitying  _you_.” He threw back the covers. “But you do need breakfast.”  
  
  
.………………….  
  
  
Hiroki had been sure it was going to be a one-time thing.  
  
Miyagi was thoroughly enjoying disabusing him of that notion.  
  
“You’re here  _again_?”  
  
Miyagi cheerfully shoved his usual offering of takeout into the younger man’s arms. “I barely saw you at all today.”  
  
“And these things are related  _how_?”  
  
His superior grinned, leaned forward, and pecked him on the lips. Hiroki spluttered and wiped his mouth, and unwittingly gave Miyagi the chance to slip inside and take off his shoes before any serious protest could be mounted.  
  
“That was totally inappropriate! We have to  _work_  together, you know!”  
  
“We’re not  _at_  work right now,” Miyagi pointed out cheerfully, making himself at home in the living room. “Besides, I take my work very seriously.”  
  
Hiroki ground his teeth, but he couldn’t summon a good argument there. Miyagi’s typical flirting might have been ramped up a notch, but the minute either of them had any real work to do it was business as usual. As much as the Professor treated everything like a joke, it was refreshing to be reminded that he  _did_  take work seriously.  
  
Of course he did. He never would have earned Hiroki’s begrudging respect, otherwise.  
  
It didn’t mean it wasn’t a bad idea to get involved with his superior. It was the worst. He didn’t exactly have a great track record with relationships, and starting another one so soon seemed ripe for peril. That it had the capacity to affect the one part of his life he held sacred, the one part that had  _kept him sane_ …  
  
Once Miyagi got his tongue in his mouth, though, it became  _really, really hard_  to remember those concerns.  
  
Damn the man for being such a talented kisser.  
  
“Sit,” Miyagi ordered. “Eat.”  
  
Somewhat petulantly, he complied – mostly because he’d learned by now that Miyagi could be both infinitely patient and infinitely annoying when he took it upon himself to meddle.  
  
“I never took you for the mother hen type,” he sniped.  
  
“I’m not. I can’t stand kids,” was the flippant reply.  
  
That made two of them.  
  
He attacked his food with vigour, not so much out of any interest in eating as getting it over and done with. Better than having Miyagi trying to feed him, or trying to put him to bed… especially since there was a part of him that was starting to suspect that the old man was  _deliberately tiring him out_  each night.  
  
Miyagi tried to coax him into conversation, as normal, but Hiroki didn’t much feel up to it that evening. Besides, he was determined not to let this become any more complicated than it  _already was_ , and once they got talking about work he inevitably let his guard drop and then the professor – still insisting he wasn’t gay – would be groping him and stealing kisses and Hiroki found himself simply going along with it. Because for that short little while, he could stop  _thinking_  and just forget about Nowaki and his messed up life. That sort of physical comfort could get addictive.  
  
“Phwaaa, you’re so surly today.” Miyagi yawned, setting aside his now-empty takeout container. “You’ll be getting brow wrinkles if you’re not careful.”  
  
“You don’t  _have_  to be here putting up with my company, you know,” Hiroki growled. “You keep coming all the way over here, butting your nose into other people’s business and sleeping over and bringing food, and then you  _complain_  about it. Don’t you have a place of your own to stay?”  
  
“You have a point,” Miyagi agreed.  
  
Hiroki paused. Agreement had  _not_  been the expected response.  
  
“It would be much simpler if you just came and stayed with me!”  
  
“... _What_?”  
  
The professor all but bounced to his feet, with more youthful enthusiasm than any thirty-five year old academic should have rightly had. “What a great idea! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before!” He headed off down the hallway into the bedroom. Hiroki was left scrambling up from the table to follow. When he finally caught up, Miyagi was cheerfully dragging a duffel bag out of his closet and tossing clothes into it.  
  
“Hey! Don’t just go through other people’s things! What are you  _doing_?”  
  
“Packing, of course!” He rifled through the cupboard. “Hmm, no, don’t need that, don’t need that… will definitely need that…”  
  
“I didn’t agree to any of this!” Irritated, he snatched up the clothes. “And don’t just throw these things everywhere Professor! Honestly.” He started folding the pants and packing them properly, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to be packing  _at all_.  
  
“Why not? It’s a great idea! I have a bigger bed, a bigger apartment, and live closer to the university. And you obviously can’t manage on your own.” He pointed at the trash bag sitting in the hallway. “You haven’t even been taking out the garbage.”  
  
“That’s only yesterday’s!”  
  
Miyagi simply disappeared into the bathroom, and emerged with his arms full of toiletries which he dumped on the bedspread. “That’s how it starts, you know. You forget the garbage one day, then it becomes a week, and then before you know it you’ve become a shut-in.”  
  
“I’m not going to become a shut-in!” Hiroki snapped. “And what are you doing? You’ve brought out half the bathroom! I don’t need all of this!” He picked out his toothbrush and shampoo and returned the rest to the medicine cabinet.  
  
That was how Hiroki suddenly found himself staying at Miyagi’s apartment.  
  
  
…………………  
  
  
“My sweet honey!” Miyagi all but tackled him when he opened the office door. “I know, I know, you can barely keep your hands off me, but don’t get too excited! I just forgot my notes for the next class. Ah, there they are!” With one arm still wrapped around the associate professor, he reached down and snatched them off his desk.  
  
“Professor!” Hiroki hissed.  
  
“Hm?” Miyagi only then appeared to notice the guest in the office, and quickly dropped the flamboyant overtures. “Oh! Your friend. Don’t mind me, I’m just on my way through.” He nodded to Akihiko, then ruffled Hiroki’s hair once more before heading back out of the office, fumbling for a cigarette, holding his papers, and trying to open the door all at the same time. Somehow he managed, and the office quietened once more.  
  
Akihiko frowned thoughtfully at Miaygi’s back. The author and professor had crossed paths before, after all – Akihiko crashed his office often enough – but they never really interacted beyond exchanging names and occasionally cigarettes. “That’s not the same guy you were with.”  
  
“No,” Hiroki said. No point denying the nature of their relationship. His childhood friend was too damn savvy when it came to anyone but himself.  
  
Akihiko raised an eyebrow at him in expectation.  
  
Hiroki sighed, and turned back to searching the shelves, as he had been before they’d been so dramatically interrupted. “If you must know, we broke up.”  
  
“With the ridiculously tall one, right?”  
  
“As though  _you’re_  one to accuse others of being ridiculously tall!” Hiroki wasn’t exactly  _short,_ but he certainly felt it some days. How the hell did he wind up surrounded by giants?  
  
Akihiko made a small sound of interest in his throat. “So what happened?”  
  
And people accused  _him_  of being blunt.  
  
Stiffly, Hiroki said, “It’s difficult to keep living with someone who’s cheating on you.”  
  
He expected some witty rejoinders, maybe some philosophical remarks, and perhaps a few questions about his well-being, but for once, Akihiko remained silent.  
  
Hiroki finally located the book he’d been searching for, and thrust it at the novelist. Akihiko took it carefully, as though it were made of glass instead of paper, and held his gaze for a long moment.  
  
Strangely, his eyes were bright with understanding and empathy.  
  
Hiroki went back to his desk to go over his lesson plans. Akihiko settled himself on the couch.  
  
They didn’t speak for the rest of the afternoon.  
  
  
…………………  
  
  
Miyagi buttoned his shirt as he walked down the hallway, fresh and awake from his morning shower.  
  
He paused just beyond the entrance to the kitchen, enjoying a sight that had yet to lose its novelty.  
  
It was the sort of scene poets would write about. Having Kamijou sitting at his kitchen table, nursing a cup of steaming, fragrant coffee, hair darkened with dampness from his shower and droplets of water running down his neck, only to be caught by the soft cotton towel draped across his bare shoulders…  
  
This, Miyagi decided, had definitely been one of his better ideas.  
  
“My sweet honey! Good morning!” He strode into the kitchen and bent to catch his colleague in a hug.  
  
There was that twitching eyelid. “Professor…”  
  
“What? No morning kiss?” Miyagi teased, then quick as a flash, stole one from the corner of his mouth.  
  
Kamijou sputtered, but his cheeks were flushed pink. Miyagi grinned and beat a swift retreat, before the associate professor’s protests went from embarrassed but secretly pleased to outright annoyed.  
  
Miyagi was swiftly learning exactly where that line was, and took delight in teasing it at every opportunity.  
  
“And a pot of hot coffee already waiting for me!” he declared in exaggerated delight. “This must be true love!” He busied himself pouring a cup, humming a light tune under his breath.  
  
Kamijou grumbled something unintelligible, but almost certainly insulting. Miyagi grinned a little wider. His associate professor was acting more like himself every day. “Have you eaten yet, Kamijou?”  
  
“…I wasn’t hungry.” There was the hint of petulance in his tone.  
  
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day you know. Here, I’ll make something.” The kitchen filled with the sound of clattering plates and pantry doors. In short order, two meals were slapped onto the dining room table.  
  
“…Toast?” Kamijou looked dubious.  
  
“Hey! I’m a bachelor. There’s never any real point to learn how to cook anything fancier if you don’t have anyone to cook for.”  
  
Kamijou’s eyes dwelled briefly on the picture resting atop his bookcase as though to dispute the point, but he didn’t ask, and occupied himself with buttering his toast instead. “…At least it isn’t burnt, I guess.”  
  
Miyagi appreciated the discretion. Discussing his old teacher was not something he was yet prepared to do.  
  
Especially with Kamijou. He was like his teacher reincarnate - the fierce love of literature, the fiery temper, the awkward denials and imperfect armour. The resemblance in mannerisms became eerie sometimes. They even looked a little alike.  
  
He simply saw it as Kamijou being utterly his type – despite the minor issue of gender. His colleague, though, sensitive as he was right now, would probably just see it as substitution.  
  
Miyagi grew sombre at the thought, sipping his coffee in pensive silence. He still caught his junior crying, sometimes – silent tears in the bathroom or bedroom, when he thought he was alone and nobody was looking.  
  
Much like when Kamijou looked at the photo on his bookcase though, Miyagi tactfully never said anything about it. They were grown men. They each had their secrets, and their pride.  
  
“What about you, Kamijou?” he asked, curious. “Are you much of a cook?”  
  
He responded with a grunt, then after a moment added, “Decent enough, but nothing to brag about. Nowa-” He cut himself off, eyes glazed over in memory.  
  
Miyagi took another sip of his coffee – growing lukewarm already – and waited it out.  
  
Soon enough, Kamijou shook himself out of it and swiftly changed topic. “Hey,” he mumbled, blushing slightly even as he glared at the half-eaten remains of his toast. “I was thinking… If we’re going to be… like this… then…”  
  
“Then…?” Miyagi prompted.  
  
The words tumbled out in a rush, as though the faster they passed the quicker he could put them behind him. “…Then you may as well call me by my first name.”  
  
Miyagi smiled. It was all in the little victories.  
  
  
…………………  
  
  
Somehow, it felt like life was getting back on track.  
  
Which didn’t make any real sense to Hiroki, as he seemed to be stuck in some sort of real-estate limbo. For the past two months he’d been more or less living at his superior’s apartment. He still paid all the bills on his own, going back there occasionally to fetch particular books, collect mail, and pick up some warmer clothes as the weather started to turn, but he rarely slept or ate there. It had turned into a sort of glorified storage.  
  
“You should just move in,” Miyagi suggested. “I’m sure we can find room for all of your books in here somewhere.”  
  
“And have them all smelling like cigarettes in a week? No thanks,” Hiroki had scoffed.  
  
That said, it  _was_  impractical, having a whole second apartment he barely used. Maybe it was paranoia, or some lingering sense of sentimentality. Like how he’d kept his previous apartment for a whole year, on the off chance that Nowaki might return and need to find it.  
  
Which didn’t make any sense in  _this_  scenario. If he were being logical about it, getting rid of the place, or at least moving to a smaller one, was the proper reaction. Shed the memories and cut off that avenue of contact with his former lover. And save some money, besides.  
  
Miyagi shrugged and dropped the subject, turning his attention back to his book. They were sitting on the horribly uncomfortable L-shaped couch, Hiroki with his reading glasses perched on his nose as he sifted through the stack of marking he’d brought back with him. Miyagi had sprawled next to him with a novel, gradually migrating until he’d wound up with his head on Hiroki’s thigh. “You’re too skinny,” he remarked, shifting in place. “You’re all bones.”  
  
“Excuse me for being uncomfortable,” Hiroki groused. “You do have another two chairs and the rest of the couch to sit on, you know.”  
  
“You’re still more comfortable. Ah, I don’t know why I agreed to buy it without testing it first.”  
  
Hiroki rolled his eyes, and double-checked his records with the assigned marks. This was the first class of third-year students he’d taken on board – having been managed exclusively by Miyagi in the past – and he was putting in the extra effort to make sure he was thorough with his feedback.  
  
He could even go for most of the day without thinking of Nowaki now. With the safety of time and distance, he could see that it was for the best. There had always been that strain in their relationship – an associate professor and a student were both at very different stages of their lives. Nowaki had been impatient to catch up, and there had never been any way that Hiroki would have  _let_  him catch up. Nowaki really liked kids, wanted a family, and Hiroki couldn’t stand either. Nowaki was pure physicality, openly affectionate, and liked to get outside to the park, or go for walks, or play sports, whereas Hiroki would be just as happy to be holed up in a library with a stack of books for the entire weekend and hesitated to even hold hands in public.  
  
Their relationship would have eventually died under a thousand tiny cuts even if Nowaki hadn’t found someone else. In some ways, this might have been a mercy.  
  
He still wished his former partner would have let him end it on  _his_  terms. Back when he’d wanted to, and made the decision to let it go. But he didn’t want to be the sort of man who constantly looked back on ifs and maybes. This was reality. He wouldn’t mope and drag and waste away like some lovesick abandoned puppy in a tragic children’s story. He was ready to move on and embrace the present, and put the whole sordid affair and all of his bad decisions into the back of his mind.  
  
He glanced at the professor using his leg as a pillow from the corner of his eye.  
  
If he were being honest, it was only thanks to Miyagi that he’d been able to reach this point so soon. His gratitude was deep, and Hiroki had to admit that it wasn’t just comfort and lust and respect for the greater academic keeping him here anymore. Somewhere in the midst of that complex muddle of emotions, genuine affection had been born, when he’d been sure he was no longer capable of it.  
  
So of course right when he’d started to regain some confidence, right when he’d begun to grow comfortable, did a scrawny brat with sandy-coloured hair appear in their office to mess everything up.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Shinobu. He's a slippery one to write, I actually wound up re-watching a lot of episodes of the anime to try to pin his character down. Was kind of surprised by how much his character morphed over time, which was only exacerbated by the fanon interpretation of him. Kind of reminds me of Fuji from Prince of Tennis that way.

 

 

_Thump, thump, thump._  
  
Immersed in research at his desk, Hiroki didn’t hear the knocking at the door until the frequency and insistency of it resembled a stampeding elephant. Grumbling, he pulled himself away from his cross-referencing, opened the door, and snapped, “What is it?”  
  
It was a kid. One who looked younger than even his first year students… probably still in high school. He frowned. Was it an open day? Surely it was a little early in the year for that…  
  
“I’m looking for Miyagi,” he said bluntly.  
  
Hiroki barely contained his growl at the lack of respectful title – or  _any_  kind of manners, for that matter - but on second glance something about the kid’s facial features struck him as a bit familiar, so he grudgingly let it go. “He’s teaching a class right now. Are you a student?” He could always be a prodigy, or maybe just looked young for his age.  
  
He shook his head, and didn’t elaborate any further.  
  
Damn kids…  
  
Whatever. Hiroki didn’t feel like dealing with it, and wanted to get back to his research before he lost his place. He glanced at the clock. “He should be back in about fifteen minutes, if you come back then.”  
  
The teen stepped into the office. “I’ll wait here.”  
  
“I didn’t say-” To hell with it. “You know what? I don’t care.” Hiroki was, for once, in a relatively good mood, even with the interruption. He’d slept well the night before, was having sex regularly, and had a breakthrough with his latest research earlier in the week. “You can read any book from those shelves to your right, but don’t touch any of the scrolls,” he warned, and headed back to his desk, mumbling about how rude the next generation were under his breath.  
  
The boy settled himself on the couch, sitting with a rigidly formal posture that didn’t match his bluntness at all. He was quiet for a minute, Hiroki only vaguely aware of a pair of dark eyes drilling into the back of his head.  
  
“Who are you?” the boy asked.  
  
Didn’t the brat have  _any_  manners? “I’m the Associate Professor of Literature here.” He didn’t have any interest in sharing anything more than that. “Don’t bother me, I’m working.” His good mood was in serious danger of disappearing.  
  
Thankfully, the brat kept quiet after that. Odd kid. Intense. But Hiroki was soon able to turn his full attention back to his work. This project was swiftly shaping up for a journal submission.  
  
His peace didn’t last long, however. Fifteen minutes later on the dot, Miyagi swung into the office with a cheery smile. “My sweet honey, I’m baaaa- wait, Shinobu?”  
  
So he knew the kid at least – maybe a family member. Hiroki hadn’t thought to ask, and felt guilty about it now.  
  
“How are you?” Miyagi asked. “I thought you were... studying overseas or something? Foreign exchange?”  
  
Shinobu stared at the Professor with an uncomfortable intensity that reminded Hiroki of a starving man arriving at a dinner table. “Australia.”  
  
“Right, right.” Miyagi dropped his book bag and class notes on his desk. “So what brings you  _here_?” There were meanings behind that emphasis Hiroki couldn’t quite grasp. He’d more or less given up on trying to concentrate for now, though for the sake of politeness pretended to still be absorbed in his work.  
  
“I need to talk to you.”  
  
Looking perturbed by now, Miyagi nodded. “Sure, sure. About anything in particular? Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you some water, or a coffee?”  
  
Shinobu glared at Hiroki. “In private.”  
  
Hiroki abandoned all pretence of not paying attention and glanced back with a frown.  
  
He might have been reassured if Miyagi himself didn’t appear so confused. “…Okay. We can go to one of the campus cafés I guess.” He looked over at his colleague and shrugged. “I’ll see you later Hiroki?”  
  
He nodded. Shinobu’s glare intensified. Then Miyagi was heading out the door and the brat couldn’t  _keep_  glaring if he wanted to catch up.  
  
The door closed, and the office fell mercifully silent once more.  
  
Hiroki scowled, and turned back to his research. For some reason, an awful sense of foreboding settled over him.  
  
Worst of all, his good mood was gone, and his concentration now utterly broken.

  
  
………………….

  
  
Miyagi stared at the high school student sitting across from him in disbelief.  
  
“Do you even know what you’re saying? I’m thirty-five, you know. Wait, I get it. This is some kind of prank.”  
  
“You think I would fly all the way from Australia for a prank?  
  
…That was frustratingly logical. And didn’t make the situation even  _slightly_  less awkward.  
  
“Look, I’m sure it must have been stressful, in another country with food you don’t like where you don’t speak the language. You’re not thinking right.”  
  
“I’ve felt this way since  _then_.”  
  
Right. That time they had the formal family meeting. Miyagi had honestly forgotten about it until Shinobu brought it up.  
  
“It’s destiny,” Shinobu said. He kept staring at the table top, refusing to look up.  
  
Miyagi felt a very strong headache coming on.  
  
“So what do you want me to do about it, then?”  
  
At last, he raised his head to meet his eyes. “Take responsibility.”  
  
The headache grew swiftly sharper.  
  
Miyagi sighed, and stubbed out what must have been his fifth cigarette that hour. He couldn't even use the excuse of not being interested in that gender - he'd fallen in with Hiroki easily enough. Actually, that was something. "Look, even if this weren’t absolutely ludicrous, I can’t do that. I'm in another relationship."  
  
Shinobu’s eyes widened. “Already?”  
  
“It’s only new, and the divorce was months ago,” Miyagi pointed out. “Risako’s got a new boyfriend too.”  
  
Shinobu didn’t even seem to  _register_  the mention of his sister, his gaze narrowing in suspicion. “It’s  _him_ , isn’t it? That man back in your office.”  
  
Kid was sharp when it suited him. Maybe his fault for throwing around pet names like free candy, in this instance. “It doesn’t matter  _who_  it is. It’s not any of your business.”  
  
"But don’t you see? School was out. I heard you were divorced. And you even turned out to be... to be..."  
  
The kid couldn't even say it. He skipped over the word, face beet red, and fixed Miyagi with a stubborn gaze. "Proof.  _Destiny_."  
  
Miyagi all but sagged in his chair. “That’s what you call destiny?” he mumbled.  
  
Kids these days… he didn’t have a damn clue what they were thinking.  
  
Shinobu’s grip tightened around his drink until his knuckles turned white. "I'm not giving up."  
  
Miyagi shook his head, and slapped enough money for both of them on the table. “I’m done here.”

  
  
……………………..

  
  
Hiroki had almost forgotten about the brat who’d invaded their office. Miyagi had returned from the meeting looking unusually ruffled, but after hearing the boy was the Dean’s son, it made sense and so Hiroki didn’t pry further. It had been something related to Risako, no doubt, and being in the position of the new lover, he took care to tread lightly on the subject.  
  
So he was utterly unprepared when he returned from his afternoon classes three days later to the sight of the sandy-haired brat sitting in his chair.  
  
His first instinct was to toss the little miscreant out of the office and give him a solid ear thrashing for good measure. But the kid  _was_  the Dean’s son, and thus more importantly, Miyagi’s former brother-in-law, so he held himself back. “Can I help you?”  
  
If his tone were a little bit acerbic, well, that couldn’t be helped.  
  
The brat stared at him for a long moment. Hiroki waited impatiently, tapping his foot. Maybe the kid was brain damaged. Even his idiot freshmen students managed some form of answer when prompted. What was his name again? Shinobu?  
  
“…You can’t have him.”  
  
Hiroki paused. “Excuse me?”  
  
“Miyagi,” the kid repeated. “You can’t have him.” The tone of his voice left no doubt as to what exactly he was referring to.  
  
Miyagi had told this  _kid_  about their relationship? Was he  _stupid_? Hiroki wasn’t exactly embarrassed about being gay, but he  _was_  discreet, and the last thing he wanted was his personal life becoming the favourite topic of the student body!  
  
“Look, brat,” he said, dumping his bag on the office couch and carefully storing one of the old hardcovers he’d brought for the lecture, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”  
  
“It  _is_  my business.” Shinobu narrowed his eyes. “My father is the Dean, you know.”  
  
There was a layer of  _threat_  underneath that which made Hiroki’s blood boil even as his bones turned to ice.  
  
“What does it interest you anyway? The Professor and your sister aren’t getting back together, no matter how much you beg.”  
  
“That’s not what I want!” the kid burst out.  
  
The vehemence in his response made Hiroki pause. And with it, came revelation.  
  
“You’re joking,” he said flatly. “ _You_  and Miyagi?”  
  
A faint tinge of red blossomed on the kid’s cheeks, but his gaze remained steady. “It’s  _destiny_.”  
  
“Don’t make me laugh. There’s no such thing.” Kids these days – where did they get this romantic bullshit from? “Doesn’t  _Miyagi_  get a say in this?”  
  
“He’d agree, if it weren’t for you.” The kid had the nerve to sound  _confident_  of it.  
  
“Are you even  _legal_?” Hiroki pointed out viciously. “Give it up brat. Take it from me – an age difference that large will never work.”  
  
“Age doesn’t matter when it’s true love.”  
  
He really  _was_  one of those naïve romantics. He certainly didn’t look the type.  
  
Hiroki shook his head, and started pulling that day’s assignments out of his satchel for marking. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kid.” Then he sat down on the couch and started organising the papers in front of him.  
  
“Are you ignoring me?” Shinobu demanded.  
  
“What’s it look like? I don’t have time to pander to the deluded fantasies of  _high schoolers_.”  
  
“I’m the Dean’s son!”  
  
“Doesn’t mean you get any special privileges with  _me_.” Hiroki slipped on his reading glasses and picked up the first sheet on the pile, determined to give the brat no notice whatsoever. Because honestly, the kid  _was_  getting privileges – anyone  _else_  would have had some form of stationery throw at them by now and a dressing down they wouldn’t soon forget.  
  
“I’ll tell him about you.”  
  
Hiroki paused, the threat from earlier coming back to mind. Slowly, he lowered the paper in his hands and narrowed his gaze. “What exactly are you suggesting?”  
  
Shinobu folded his arms. “What’s more important to you? Miyagi, or your career?”  
  
This brat wasn’t seriously trying  _blackmail_  him, was he? “You try and expose us, you know that will reflect worse on Miyagi than  _me_ ,” Hiroki pointed out.  
  
Shinobu didn’t smile, or sound smug. “I don’t have to. He doesn’t have to be involved.”  
  
“Good luck proving I’m gay otherwise, idiot,” Hiroki sniped, essays now sitting completely forgotten on the coffee table. “And I’m not going to get fired for that anyway. Keep up with the times.” He didn’t know the Dean that well, but Miyagi had assured him when he first realised his colleague was gay that the University staff weren’t typically bothered by it. Especially not in the social sciences departments.  
  
“All I have to do is say I have personal knowledge.” His dark eyes glittered. “Who would they believe? Me, or you?”  
  
Hiroki froze at the implication.  
  
He could deny it to hell and back, and it wouldn’t matter. Even if the brat didn’t go for broke, and claimed it was some sort of star-crossed love and totally consensual, Hiroki’s reputation would be dragged the mud. No matter how forward-thinking the Dean might be, he’d be kicked out of Mitsuhashi just to keep him away from his son. He didn’t have tenure yet. He would have to start the process elsewhere all over again, and the chances of getting into another Department nearly so good after being dismissed elsewhere? Non-existent. He would be forever condemned to some barely-accredited community college teaching remedial high school literature, without any hope of his journal submissions ever seeing publication.  
  
“Of course,” Shinobu said, “If you give up on Miyagi, I won’t say anything.”  
  
“Fraud and defamation are illegal, you know,” Hiroki said, but his voice was rough, and weak, and he hated it for betraying him. “You’ll get into far worse trouble than I will.”  
  
“I won’t give up,” the kid said, and stood up from his chair. “Your determination cannot possibly match mine.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

“My sweet honey!” Miyagi barrelled into the office with the cheerful force of a violent sunrise. “Ahhh, it’s finally over. Coffee, coffee…” He bustled over to the machine, humming to himself as he poured a cup. “Do you have to stay back today? I thought we could go out. There’s a new place that just opened on the way home. Well, actually, we don’t have much choice because I completely forgot to go grocery shopping and we’re out of food, although I guess if you really want we can go grocery shopping now and cook something…”  
  
Hiroki remained quiet at his desk. Miyagi paused – normally by now his colleague would have at least responded in some fashion, if only to tell him to quiet down.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, pulling his tie loose. The associate professor’s shoulders looked stiffer than concrete, and that familiar expression of bored neutrality, pinched only slightly with a frown, had been drawn over his face like black curtains. He hadn’t seen it for the past few weeks, and its abrupt return was concerning.

“No, nothing,” Hiroki said. “Dinner sounds fine.”

Which was as worrying a symptom as it could get. Hiroki passive was Hiroki distracted. Considering that Miyagi prided himself on being the number one distraction around the office, for him to barely grab his colleague’s attention was alarming.  
  
He patted him on the back. “Cheer up. You’ll feel better once you have some food in you.” Miyagi made a mental note to order some sake with the meal. Harassing him for answers now wouldn’t achieve much, but Hiroki was a talkative drunk.  
  
Except when he finally dragged Hiroki from the office to the restaurant – one of those pan-European places, with fifteen different kinds of pasta and breads – his gaze remained inward, and the conversation oddly distant. He picked at his food, and wound up not liking the wine so nursed a single glass for the whole meal. And later, after they returned home, he rebuffed Miyagi’s every touch in such a quiet manner that Miyagi didn’t feel right pushing the issue.  
  
Miyagi had prided himself on being able to read his colleague and figure out what was bothering him. Poke a little, prod a little, act like the big deals weren’t a big deal and the small deals were a  _huge_  deal, and he could normally drag him out of his shell. He had plenty of practice with his teacher, after all, though he didn’t have the life experience and people skills then.  
  
Yet they lay side by side in bed for hours that night, neither of them sleeping. Miyagi let it rest, though – sometimes Hiroki’s moods were like the weather, and the results of a bad day would blow over fast enough. For all his dramatics, he was a mature guy, and was capable of working through most things with a little time.  
  
Besides, he had some of his own issues keeping him awake. Shinobu was still harassing him almost daily, and he was fast approaching the end of his patience. The brat was likeable enough, but it got tiring, constantly trying to shoot down someone’s hopes when they persisted in not getting the hint… even talking plainly didn’t help! That kind of behaviour would get him a restraining order as an adult.  
  
Hopefully the kid would give up and go back to Australia soon, and he could turn his full attention back to Hiroki.

 

…………………….

 

Except Hiroki’s bad mood didn’t lift – if anything, he became more withdrawn. Miyagi didn’t worry too much about it just yet, because there was a sharp fire in his colleague-turned-partner’s eyes, the same sort of glint as when he was dealing with a particularly unruly student.  
  
In the meantime…  
  
Miyagi sighed, and fished out the keys to his office. “What do you want?”  
  
“I made you lunch.” Shinobu proffered the bento box with both hands, as though he were offering up bars of gold instead of just food.  
  
Miyagi didn’t make any move to take it. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”  
  
“Have you already eaten?”  
  
He hadn’t, and had been planning on going to the cafeteria. Before he could make his excuses, though, his stomach growled.  
  
“You’re hungry. Here.” Shinobu insisted, pressing the bento forward.  
  
The kid was persistent, he’d give him that. He so  _obviously_  held ulterior motives, but avoiding him only seemed to make him more stubborn.  
  
With a suffering sigh, Miyagi accepted the bento with one hand and opened the office with the other. Shinobu followed him in, perching on the edge of the settee and watching him with dark, hawk-like eyes as he pulled off the lid.  
  
It… didn’t look all that appetising.  
  
Tentatively, he took a bite of the curry, and blanched. The flavour was… off. Like it had been cooked all out of order, or watered down. Considering how mushy it was, that very well might have been what happened.  
  
His expression obviously gave him away, as Shinobu abruptly stood and reached for the bento. “Sorry. It’s not very good. I’ll get better,” he said.  
  
As annoying as the brat was, Miyagi wasn’t heartless. He’d obviously put a lot of effort in, and even though the intention wasn’t appreciated, just throwing it away was wasteful.  
  
“Don’t bother. It’s edible,” he said. “I’ll eat it. Just don’t get any ideas.” He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. He’d experienced a few culinary disasters in his days as a bachelor – this wasn’t any worse than some of the things he’d made then.  
  
He immediately regretted it, though, when he saw the shine in the kid’s eyes.  
  
He ate as quickly as he could stomach it, washing it down liberally with coffee.  
  
“I was thinking,” Shinobu said seriously, “That maybe we should spend some time together.”  
  
Miyagi sighed. He knew this was coming the minute the kid turned up outside his office with a homemade bento in hand – but better they have this conversation in the privacy of his office than have it turn into a shouting match in the hall. “I’ve already given you my answer. It’s not going to change, no matter how many times you ask.”  
  
“That’s just because we haven’t had the chance to get to know each other properly,” Shinobu argued. “If you just gave me a chance, you’d change your mind.”  
  
“I’m in a relationship already,” Miyagi pointed out for what felt like the thousandth time.  
  
“That’s just your excuse.”  
  
He was saved from responding by the door swinging open, and his own personal little storm cloud came sweeping in. “Hiroki!” He laid off the pet names with Shinobu present. That proverbial cat might have already been out of the bag, but he would maintain plausible deniability where he could.  
  
“Professor,” he responded, and then scowled at Shinobu, who in turn looked like he was trying to turn his eyes into deadly lasers. “Am I interrupting?”  
  
“No,” Miyagi cut in, even as Shinobu opened his mouth to respond. He handed back the bento box to him. “Thanks. I’ve got to get back to work now. And don’t you have classes?”  
  
Still glowering at Hiroki, Shinobu accepted the box back. “You’ll at least think about it?” he asked.  
  
“Sure,” Miyagi agreed, just to get him out of the office. An empty promise – he would think about it, and still come to the same conclusion, which was the same as not thinking about it at all.  
  
Giving them both suspicious glances, the kid shuffled out of the office. As soon as the door closed behind him Miyagi slumped in his seat. “I need a cigarette.” His fumbling for the pack in his pocket came up empty.  
  
Hiroki rolled his eyes, pulled open the desk drawer next to him, and tossed a fresh pack over. “Ah, my dearest! You’re everything a man could ever dream of!”  
  
“You’re addicted,” Hiroki stated flatly, then headed over to his own desk. “What was all that about? Eating love-wife lunches now?”  
  
“Oh.” Miyagi winced, and laughed awkwardly. “You know about that, huh?”  
  
“Hn.” Hiroki didn’t sound impressed.  
  
“You know I’m not interested, right?” With Hiroki, it didn’t hurt to clear the air as often as possible. Misunderstandings with him could run deep and long and grow swiftly complicated. Miyagi had the suspicion it might have been the source of his current lingering mood.  
  
Hiroki scowled. “Of course not. The brat’s half your age.”  
  
Miyagi nodded, relieved. Of course. He wasn’t a cradle-snatcher. Nobody in their right mind would consider it.  
  
As far as he was concerned, that was the end of the matter.  
  
Shinobu, of course, turned out to be more stubborn than he’d anticipated.

 

……………………..

 

Hiroki glowered at the floor.  
  
Miyagi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I really am sorry. The Dean…” He shrugged. “You know how it is. I tried to get out of it, but…”  
  
“That…  _brat_ … is going to be staying here?”  
  
He was a  _menace_. Since the little hellion first turned up outside their office, he knew there would be trouble. A lifetime of experience honed his sense for these things.  
  
“For two weeks, that’s all!”  
  
Hiroki sighed, and started down the hallway. He yanked open the linen closet, fished out his travel bag, and dragged it towards the laundry.  
  
“Hey, what are you doing?”  
  
Hiroki stared at him. The professor possessed a lot of well-documented personality problems, but this was the first time he questioned the man’s lack of  _brains_. “I’m going back to my apartment, obviously.”  
  
Miyagi caught his arm. “Don’t be like that. He’s just  _staying_  here. He can sleep on the couch.” He gestured vaguely to the L-shaped orange brick that took up half his living room. It wasn’t particularly comfortable to  _sit_  on, much less sleep on. The purchase of a loveless marriage if he ever saw one.  
  
Hiroki scowled and shook him off. “I don’t much feel like hanging around watching some lovesick kid cling to you like a limpet.”  
  
Unexpectedly, that earned him a wide grin. “Awww, my sweet honey! Are you feeling jealous?”  
  
“Jealous? Of some pubescent brat?!” he bristled.  
  
Maybe jealous wasn’t the right word. Maybe it was  _scared_. He’d just started to feel comfortable, started to feel like  _himself_  again, when drama invaded once more. He wasn’t so seriously worried about the brat’s threats anymore – he felt fairly sure he could call the kid’s bluff on that – but the whole affair left him unsettled.  
  
Miyagi reached out and poked him in the forehead. Blinking, he recoiled.  
  
“Frown wrinkles,” he warned with a wry smile. “Don’t want to ruin that pretty face before you turn thirty.”  
  
Hiroki only frowned deeper.  
  
“Look, I’ve already made my position clear to him. If staying with us for two weeks is what it takes for him to clear his head, at least then we’ll be done with it.”  
  
“It’s annoying,” he muttered, and felt that the word wasn’t strong enough.  
  
“I know. I’m irritated too. But I’m sure he’s just confused.” Miyagi spread his palms defensively. “He’s just a kid. He’s stubborn, he talks big, but he’s out of his depth. When he sees I’m not going to change my mind, he’ll run back to Australia, and it’ll all take care of itself.”  
  
Hiroki wasn’t so sure.  
  
After all, seven years ago, he remembered another young persistent teenager who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

The inaugural evening with Shinobu in the apartment was spent mostly in a supremely strained glaring contest.  
  
“So, Hiroki, how was your day?” Miyagi tried to cajole a response from his partner, struggling to hold up his smile under the oppressive atmosphere.  
  
“You were there, you already know how it was,” Hiroki muttered, but his gaze didn’t shift from the kid sitting across the kitchen table. Shinobu, in turn, glowered at the associate professor with all his might.  
  
They fell back into simmering silence. The kid had made his move, barging in here like this. Hiroki didn’t want to be here dealing with this, but since he  _had_  to be, there was  _no way_  he was going to back down.  
  
The kid wanted to play hard ball? He’d stepped straight into Hiroki’s dugout.  
  
“Ah, you’re done with that? Here, here, I’ll do the dishes.” Miyagi started collecting up everyone’s plates.  
  
Shinobu was quick to leap to his feet. “I’ll do it!” He sent a glare of challenge across the table.  
  
Hiroki just scoffed to himself. If the brat thought he was going to fight over  _doing chores_  to win Miyagi’s affection, he would be sorely disappointed. Kid probably fell for reverse psychology all the time like that.  
  
“Ah, in that case… I guess I’ll go have a shower,” Miyagi said. He sent a questing glance towards his partner, but Hiroki didn’t move from his seat. With a shrug, he escaped the kitchenette and headed for the bathroom.  
  
The minute Miyagi was out of earshot, Shinobu finally spoke up.  
  
“You’re still with him.”  
  
Hiroki folded his arms. “Looks like it, doesn’t it?”  
  
“I guess you don’t care about your career then. I’ll do it. Don’t think I won’t.”  
  
“You stupid brat.” Hiroki’s smile was like a shark’s, sharp and all teeth. He was prepared for this now, not caught off-guard like last time. “You do know if you try to take me down, I’m taking you with me.”  
  
The kid scoffed. “What can  _you_  possibly do?”  
  
“Look at it like this: Fine. You get me fired. But if you do that, I’ll make  _absolutely sure_  you  _never_ get what you want.”  
  
The brat stilled. “…And how would you do that?” He still didn’t sound convinced, though a note of wariness had entered his voice.  
  
Stupid kid. “You’re after Miyagi, aren’t you? All I have to do is tell the Dean all about it.” Hiroki leaned forward, eyes narrowed. Shinobu held his ground, but shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Do you really think daddy dearest would look on that relationship any more kindly than he would a fictional one with  _me_? It’s controversial enough that it’s another man –  _no_  parent would let their kid go out with someone twice their age.”  
  
“He can’t stop it,” Shinobu spat back.  
  
“Can’t he?” Hiroki hissed. “Even if you  _are_  legal, he’s still your father. The way I see it, he can send you back to Australia if he really wants. And not just that, either. He can make life difficult for Miyagi too. I’m sure  _that_  will endear you to him.”  
  
Miyagi had tenure, so he couldn’t be fired that easily – unlike Hiroki - but he was counting on the kid not knowing that.  
  
He’d give the brat some credit – he wasn’t easily cowed. He narrowed his eyes and replied, “And why should my father believe  _anything_  you say, especially  _after_  I talk to him? It’ll just make you look like you’re trying to make excuses. And I could get a  _restraining order_.”  
  
Hiroki was about to snap back, when a third voice intruded in the conversation. “What the hell is this?!”  
  
Shinobu froze. Miyagi stood, framed in the doorway by the kitchen lights, looking the coldest and angriest Hiroki had ever seen him.  
  
“Wh-what? Weren’t you going to have a shower?” the kid stuttered.  
  
“I came back to get something, but that’s not the point. Did that sound like what I thought it sounded like?”  
  
“…H-how much did you hear?” Shinobu asked. He’d gone pale.  
  
“Enough.” He glanced at Hiroki. “Hiroki, is this true? Has he been threatening you?”  
  
Hiroki glanced away and muttered, “I have it under control.”  
  
Miyagi’s expression only grew darker. He grasped Shinobu by the wrist and tugged him to his feet. “You’re coming with me. We have to talk.”  
  
  
………………………..  
  
  
Miyagi dragged Shinobu to his bedroom. It was the last place he wanted to have this conversation, but it was the furthest from the kitchen and the most private.  
  
“Let go! That hurts!” Shinobu complained, yanking on his wrist.  
  
Miyagi didn’t reply, just half-dragged, half-threw the kid into the dark room. He didn’t bother to turn on the light – there was enough streaming from the doorway. “This has to stop.”  
  
“You don’t need to be so rough.” Shinobu scowled as he massaged his wrist. Miyagi felt bad for only an instant – he was too annoyed to feel sorry for the kid.  
  
“What’s it going to take with you? I’ve spoken as plainly as possible. I’ve told you time and time again to give up. Why won’t you just get the hint and leave us alone?”  
  
“Because you won’t take me seriously!” he burst out. “I’m telling you I’m in love with you and just treat me like a kid!”  
  
"You  _are_  just a kid,” Miyagi growled. “Only an immature brat would think it's okay to threaten someone's job and reputation just to get what he wants."  
  
The kid looked away, but that stubborn set to his jaw was still there. Why did he always get landed with problems like these? “Listen. That’s not just you getting your way. That’s taking food out of someone’s mouth, their roof from over their head, and their dreams away from their futures. If you had a career of your own you’d understand what an immature,  _selfish_  thing that is to do.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Luckily, you made the mistake of giving Hiroki time to dwell on it. He’s not so easily manipulated, you know.”  
  
“Hiroki this, Hiroki that,” Shinobu snapped suddenly. “I’m sick of it! Pay attention to  _me_!”  
  
“You  _brat_!” Miyagi thundered. “I’m in a  _relationship_  with him! Are you so stupid you can’t understand that?”  
  
“I’m  _in love_  with you! Why can’t  _you_  understand that?!” Shinobu shot back.  
  
That did it. The kid was never going to understand.  
  
“Fine then. You want me to take you seriously? I will.” He grasped Shinobu by the shoulders and threw him down onto the bed. The kid’s eyes went wide in surprise as he bounced on the mattress.  
  
“What are you-”  
  
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he snapped, shoving his leg between his knees, and forcefully claiming his mouth in a bruising kiss.  
  
Shinobu froze under him, mouth slack and body rigid. Miyagi didn’t let up, though – pushing his hand under his shirt, groping his chest, fingers harsh and firm and unyielding, sliding down to tug on his pants.  
  
He broke the kiss and started undoing his belt buckle. Shinobu just stared at him, eyes wide and lips moist with saliva. “What’s the matter? This is what men do. You can’t talk so freely about love if you’re so scared of this.” He lent down and captured his mouth in another deep kiss, and pushed their groins together. Shinobu jumped like a plucked string.  
  
There was nothing soft, or romantic, or kind and gentle about it. It was hard, unforgiving, demanding contact – the detached, impersonal sort of intimacy of a drunken one-night stand or a possessive boyfriend trying to assert his position.  
  
When he felt he’d made his point, Miyagi finally withdrew, giving the kid space enough to escape. That should do for a good scare, to shock some sense into the brat. Now Shinobu could call him all sorts of foul names, punch him maybe, and finally get the hell back out of his life. This was the easiest way.  
  
Then Miyagi looked – truly  _looked_  – at the teenager he had pinned to his bed.  
  
Shit. The kid really  _was_  serious. He was terrified – he was  _shaking_  – but he was still going to go through with it. Even with the sheen of tears in his eyes, he was trying to reach out to Miyagi, trying to convince him, despite it being so completely obvious that he was scared out of his wits and had no idea what he was doing.  
  
His stomach dropped. Was the kid  _completely_  a virgin?  
  
“Get out of here,” Miyagi said abruptly, tired of it all. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”  
  
“B-but… I mean, I can…” he blustered.  
  
“Get lost!” Miyagi barked.  
  
Cowed, Shinobu scrambled from the bed and scurried from the room.  
  
  
……………………..  
  
  
It had worked. Shinobu had gone back to his father’s house that night and stopped bothering him. Miyagi had no idea what he’d told his father, but the Dean came by his office afterwards to apologise for the trouble.  
  
“You should have told me what he was doing in the first place,” Miyagi told Hiroki later.  
  
The associate professor just hunched his shoulders and replied, “I’m not so pathetic that I need you to ride to my rescue over every little thing.”  
  
Burnt pride, obviously. Miyagi could deal with that. Hiroki would get over it soon enough, and things could settle back down into the comfortable routine they’d been reaching before. The one where he could walk into his kitchen first thing in the morning to the sight of Hiroki’s bare chest, and stay up late into the nights talking literature followed more often than not by extremely satisfying sex.  
  
Except for some reason, it didn’t work like that. Now, when he went to the cafeteria he would remember Shinobu’s awful homemade bento. Walking into the kitchen reminded him of that one awkward night with their house guest. Kissing Hiroki made his mind flash to quivering hands and dark grey watery eyes. Not having that head of sandy hair pop up multiple times a day in the most unexpected places felt  _weird_.  
  
It felt… lonely.  
  
That was when Miyagi realised what exactly had happened.  
  
This was bad.  
  
This was really, really bad.  
  
Miyagi hadn’t signed up for any of this.  
  
His gut churned. His cigarette turned tasteless.  
  
He had to break it off with Hiroki. Now. He shouldn’t have started anything with him in the first place.  
  
“It’s really not fair,” he muttered, stubbing the butt into the ashtray. Smoke licked his knuckles, thin, pale trails curling in the air.  
  
His colleague didn’t deserve this. But he already had one failed marriage. Miyagi knew intimately the price that came trying to hold a relationship while harbouring feelings for someone else.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Miyagi bowed deeply. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Hiroki didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t fully comprehend what he was hearing. “I thought he went back to Australia!”  
  
“…I stopped him at the airport.”  
  
A mess of emotions tumbled through him, and Hiroki didn’t know which one to pick. Anger? But unlike Nowaki, Miyagi hadn’t actually done anything wrong yet – had been completely upfront and honest the moment his feelings changed. Disbelief, at how suddenly things had shifted? Betrayed?  _Used_?  
  
“He’s  _half your age_ ,” Hiroki repeated numbly.  
  
Miyagi winced. “I’m sorry,” he apologised again, but didn’t try to justify it.  
  
It shouldn’t have struck so deeply. Truthfully, he should have seen this coming – maybe not with the brat  _specifically_ , but he’d had his reservations about this whole deal to begin with, hadn’t he? He’d been sure it wouldn’t last, not with a man who was reluctant to admit he was bisexual and was less than a year out of a failed marriage.  
  
And yet, Miyagi had worn down his protests with his persistent cheerfulness, his respect for Hiroki’s burnt pride, and the endless array of comforts, both physical and mental, he provided.  
  
His vision blurred, but he quickly blinked it clear.  
  
Damn it. He got attached.  
  
What could he do? He wasn't the type to beg someone to stay with him.  
  
"I see. I'll get my things," he said flatly, and hurried off before his composure could break.  
  
"Hiroki-" Miyagi followed after him.  
  
"Forget it," he interrupted. “There’s nothing more to say.” He fished out his duffel bag from the closet and started tossing his clothes into it. He swept past the bathroom, snatching up his toothbrush and toiletries. Then the books he’d been reading that were resting on the nightstand, and the charger for his phone.  
  
“It was never my intention for it to turn out like this,” Miyagi said, still shadowing his steps awkwardly.  
  
Hiroki didn’t reply.  
  
“Aren’t you going to get angry? Throw something? I deserve it, you know. It’s not healthy to just internalise everything. This is my fault.”  
  
Hiroki swung the duffel bag over his shoulder. "If there's anything I've forgotten, just bring it to the office."  
  
"Hiroki," Miyagi tried again. "If there's anything I can do..."  
  
His reserve snapped. "Haven't you done enough?" he hissed.  
  
Miyagi recoiled.  
  
Hiroki swept past into the hall, and slapped the apartment key down onto the table. “I’m done. I’ll see you at work.”  
  
“Hirok-”  
  
“It’s Kamijou,” he corrected coldly, slipped on his shoes, and closed the front door behind him.  
  
He walked the first two blocks, before half-heartedly flagging a cab – he didn’t care how expensive it was, he wasn’t up to the long walk back to his apartment this late at night, and there was no way he could stand the thought of the train right then.  
  
He stared morosely out the window at the passing scenery, ignoring the cab driver’s initial attempts at a conversation, and routinely blinking away tears before they could fall.  
  
It wasn't anything special. This kind of thing happened every day. That it happened to him twice in a matter of months... well, that just made him a fool, didn't it? He kept falling for idiots who chased after younger tail at the first opportunity.  
  
He arrived back at his apartment. The building sat half-dark, with only a few lights peeking out under door edges and through curtains. Hiroki shoved some money at the driver, fetched his duffel bag from the back seat, and stomped up the stairs to his floor.  
  
The apartment was cold and dark and musty – he’d only stopped back on occasion to collect the mail or pick up something he needed. He didn’t bother flipping a light on, just dropped his bag in the hallway and sunk to the floor, back pressed against a pile of books.  
  
Here again. Back in this place, surrounded by memories of Nowaki.  
  
His laugh came out choked. The brat got what he wanted in the end. He didn’t even need to destroy his career to do it.  
  
Whatever. He didn't care anymore.  
  
Hiroki was through. He was tired of being everyone's second best, of being cast aside and forgotten the minute someone else came along.  
  
  
………………………  
  
  
Monday morning found him at work early – he had no desire to linger in his apartment longer than necessary, and it wasn’t as though he’d slept much anyway. The thought of breakfast left him nauseated, so he chewed down a granola bar as he stalked the quiet, empty halls of the University. It might as well have been made of sawdust for all he tasted it.  
  
He used the time to organise his lesson plans for the day and finish off some marking. Since class didn’t start until later, he returned to researching for his next journal submission.  
  
Miyagi entered the office twenty minutes late, steps hesitant and bags under his eyes deep enough to rival his colleague’s. He stood in the doorway for one long moment, just staring, before finally venturing an uncertain, “Good morning.”  
  
“Good morning,” Hiroki replied neutrally. “You’re late. You have class in ten minutes.”  
  
“Right.” Miyagi looked unusually flustered, hurrying over to his desk and sorting through his notes and putting a cup in the coffee machine and very nearly spilling the lot. “Sorry. Ahaha, you know how it is, Monday mornings…”  
  
Hiroki didn’t comment – just returned to his work.  
  
“Hey, Hiro-Kamijou,” Miyagi corrected himself, “About everything that happened…”  
  
“There’s nothing to discuss, Professor,” Hiroki cut him off in that same neutral tone of voice. “What you do in your personal life is no longer any of my business. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”  
  
Miyagi looked at the ground. “Your armour’s become stronger.” He laughed, bitterly. “Did I do that?”  
  
Hiroki didn’t reply.  
  
  
………………  
  
  
Miyagi didn’t bring it up again after that, though seemed relieved when Hiroki didn’t make any mention of his relationship with Shinobu to the Dean, even if it would have served them both right. At least the Professor didn’t greet him with hugs or flamboyant overtures anymore.  
  
The atmosphere remained tense in the office, but it didn’t bother him. When he was busy working, he could block it out, and pretend nothing had happened and nothing had changed.  
  
In this way, that awful Monday ended, an equally terrible Tuesday followed, and life slowly ground on. Hiroki did briefly consider if it would be better if he looked into changing jobs. With a voluntary transfer, the rank of Associate Professor at Mitsuhashi could get him into the Literature Department of a dozen of other Universities. He’d have to start earning his tenure all over again, but did he really want to stick around Mitsuhashi in the long term like this?  
  
It didn’t matter though. Maybe Miyagi felt awkward, but Hiroki could care less how  _he_  felt. He had his brat. He could deal with it.  
  
Of course, there were plenty of attempts to disrupt the fragile peace. Akihiko wandering by in his usual attempts to avoid his editor. The normal unruly students. His mother making her fortnightly call and asking all the typical intrusive questions at the worst possible time.  
  
And of course, the brat who caused it all.  
  
“Ah, Kamijou!” Miyagi exclaimed in surprise when he entered the office. “I didn’t think- um, this isn’t what it-”  
  
It was almost certainly  _exactly_  what it looked like. Shinobu was sitting on Miyagi’s lap – sharing a bento, apparently. The teen watched Hiroki through half-lidded, satisfied eyes, and that more than anything else told him their position was no accident.  
  
“I only returned to collect my notes,” Hiroki said blandly. “Don’t worry, I won’t be here long.”  
  
The brat had come to affirm his claim, had he? As though he hadn't done so thoroughly already. What more did the little terrorist think he could take from him?  
  
He wordlessly gathered his notes, and brushed past without giving them a second glance.  
  
"Kamijou-"  
  
"Excuse me. I have class," he replied coolly, and shut the door behind him.  
  
It should have hurt. But Hiroki didn't feel anything at all.  
  
  
………………………  
  
  
  
The office was painfully silent under the soft click of the closing door.  
  
It couldn’t have been louder if Kamijou had slammed it.  
  
Shinobu stared at it, an odd mix of dissatisfaction and perplexity written across his features. “That was…”  
  
Miyagi didn’t want to say it – didn’t want to weigh down their fragile, experimental relationship with the millstone of recriminations, but it needed to be said. He couldn’t entirely ignore the difference in their ages, and that meant he had some responsibility in Shinobu’s maturity.  
  
“That was the price of  _this_.” He jostled the boy off his lap to sit next to him on the office couch. “You see now? He’s not some evil tengu that vanishes just because you got your way. Our choices can hurt people, too.”  
  
Shinobu scowled and returned to his bento without commenting. He looked troubled, though.  
  
At least that meant Miyagi wouldn’t be alone with his guilt. He felt truly awful, watching his colleague close off so thoroughly to the world around him, watching him turn into an automaton going through the motions. He still threw things at students who didn’t pay attention, berated idiots, and spoke passionately about literature… but there was a hollowness to him now… an exhaustion that looked bone-deep, the sort of weariness Miyagi normally only saw on people three times his age.  
  
It tore at him, but Miyagi had forfeited his right to intervene. All he could do was watch his colleague lock himself away, and hope someone else could snap him out of it before he buried himself too deep.  
  
Who, he didn’t know though. Kamijou wasn’t exactly the social type. He got along with the rest of the faculty well enough, but during their short period of living together the only outside contact he’d received had been a single phone call from his mother. The only other person who seemed to count as a friend was that guy who came to borrow books and hang around their office occasionally. What was his name? Usami? They’d been introduced once, but the most Miyagi had to do with him since was the occasional offer of a cigarette.  
  
Yet… for all his complaining, Kamijou  _did_  let him laze around the office. It was out of character for his prickly colleague.  
  
His eyes brightened as he considered that.  
  
Maybe there was  _one_  thing he could still do.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

“Don’t forget your assignments are due at the end of the week, there will be no extensions for anything less than hospitalisation, got it?” Hiroki barked. The collective student body nodded frantically, and he waved them irritably on their way. They rushed out, a gangly, uncoordinated human river that couldn’t wait to leave the scary mountain of the lecture theatre.  
  
Hiroki went and sat at his desk, slowly organising his notes as the stragglers trickled out. A headache had built up behind his eyes, and the air conditioning had been malfunctioning all day, leaving the lecture theatre warm and stuffy after every class.  
  
He walked back to the office, ignoring the students who shuffled to the other side of the hall when they saw him coming. He stood outside his door a moment, wondering if the brat was there with the Professor again, before shaking his head. What did it matter if they were? He couldn’t care less.  
  
When he stepped inside, though, a familiar author lounged on the couch instead. Marginally more welcome, though Hiroki didn’t much feel like entertaining  _anyone_  currently. “Bakahiko, what are you doing here again?”  
  
His old friend waved a hand, not even looking up from the book he’d purloined from the shelves. “Can’t I catch up with friends without an ulterior motive?”  
  
“Avoiding your editor then,” Hiroki grumbled, dumping his lecture notes on his desk and digging out the previous day’s assignments. He might as well get his marking done if the author was determined to loiter.  
  
"Actually, Takahiro's back in town," he said, casually leafing to the next page of his book.  
  
The name didn't send the same spike of resentment through his heart that it used to - or if it did, it was lost amidst the numb ache he carried everywhere now. Belatedly, he realised it had been a long time since he heard Akihiko going on about his unrequited love. His trashy BL novels hadn't featured that name for a while, either. Did the wedding finally force him to move on? When was the last time-?  
  
"Didn't he move to Osaka-" He calculated backwards. "-only six months ago? Hardly makes the trip worth it."  
  
Akihiko shrugged. "He’s just visiting. Wants to spend more time with his brother."  
  
“So why are you  _here_  then?” Hiroki huffed.  
  
His old friend’s expression turned dark and sour. "He wasn't particularly pleased with me."  
  
"Why not?" His gaze skipped across the next student's assignment. Another first-year brat filling up course credits - Hiroki was tempted to fail him on principle.  
  
"Because his precious little brother has left to shack up with some strange new boyfriend he's never met, and I didn't do anything to stop him."  
  
"Hnnn, is that so?" Hiroki muttered distractedly. He didn't know much about the kid, beyond the fact that Akihiko had taken up tutoring him at some point in the past two years. He’d resorted to tuning out most things related to Takahiro as an act of self-preservation somewhere during his second year of college. "Why didn't you?"  
  
"I thought you of all people would understand how awkward it would be to live with your ex-lover when they were going out with another guy."  
  
Hiroki choked.  
  
“You…” The precious words he held so dear completely deserted him. “You…  _you were dating Takahiro’s little brother_?”  
  
“Not anymore, obviously,” Akihiko stated blandly.  
  
The revelation that for the past two years his childhood friend had actually  _moved on_  struck him like a physical blow. “You didn’t think to  _tell_  me?” was the only response he could summon.  
  
Akihiko shrugged. “You never asked.”  
  
Of course he didn’t ask! He’d had  _years_  of speeches about the many virtues of Takahiro foisted upon him without asking – when had the rules suddenly changed?  
  
“Besides,” Akihiko added, “You seemed to be going through your own issues at the time.”  
  
…Right. That had been around the time Nowaki had disappeared to America for a year without so much as a phone call. In retrospect, Hiroki had been poor company, too focused on his own misery and uncertainty to pay that much attention to his old friend’s couch-bound ramblings.  
  
Still…  _this_  was the mysterious roommate? Akihiko mentioned him occasionally, and only now was Hiroki noticing the careful omission of name, but normally the comments were about some stupid argument or what new mundane delicacy he’d cooked for dinner the night before. Hiroki had been glad for it, that his friend had found someone to live with who he could tolerate, but that it was  _Takahiro’s little brother_ …  
  
Hiroki scowled, scrambling for steadier ground. “No wonder you’ve been moping around. I thought it was a bit melodramatic to get this upset over your  _roommate_  moving out.”  
  
“Hnnn.” Akihiko turned to the next page of his book. “Have I been moping?”  
  
“How you can write so eloquently about the angst of the lovelorn while remaining utterly incapable of processing your own will be the crowning thesis of a grad student someday.” Huffing, he started sorting through the marking on his desk, mostly to give his hands something to do so he didn’t keep standing there like a dumbstruck buffoon.  
  
“Maybe you’re right,” Akihiko mused. “What should I do, then?”  
  
“Idiot. I’ll give you advice and you’ll just ignore it, as always.” There was no real heat behind the words, though. Akihiko was Akihiko, he’d been like that for as long as Hiroki could remember.  
  
“I always listen to your advice.” The protest was so droll as to sound sarcastic.  
  
“Idiot,” Hiroki repeated. “There’s nothing to do anyway. You just have to get over it.”  
  
They were words he’d repeated to himself ceaselessly over the past fortnight. Sometimes he even believed they were true.  
  
“Get over it, huh?” Akihiko mused, looking from his book to stare at the ceiling. “Maybe I need a new roommate.”  
  
“Maybe,” Hiroki agreed, distracted by one of the papers that looked like it might actually have some interesting ideas in it. He shuffled it to the bottom of the pile, to save it for the end.  
  
“You live alone, don’t you?”  
  
Hiroki’s fingers twitched, and his sorting missed a beat. “…At the moment, yes.” Did he have to bring it up?  
  
“You should move in.”  
  
“Hm,” Hiroki muttered. Then, “Wait, what?”  
  
  
………………..  
  
  
"I  _have_  an apartment!"  
  
Akihiko didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to his protests, directing the movers with careless authority. "There's more space here. I’ve already moved your library." He waved his hand vaguely towards one of the far walls, now lined floor-to-ceiling with books.  
  
Hiroki had no idea how this had even happened. After his pronouncement not two days before, Akihiko had turned up on his doorstep with moving company in tow, and before Hiroki could stop sputtering long enough to summon an effective argument, his entire flat had been efficiently emptied and transferred to the author’s penthouse.  
  
“That’s not the point! I’m not going to move in with you!”  
  
Akihiko wore a look of hurt. “Am I that terrible a friend?”  
  
“Don’t put on that act with me,” Hiroki growled. That hangdog expression might have worked on him eight years ago when he was stewing in the deepest depths of unrequited affection, but he’d known Akihiko since they were  _kids_. He wouldn’t give in to that kind of blatant emotional manipulation. “I’m not falling for it. We’d be terrible roommates, anyway. Haven’t you ever heard that living with friends will turn them into enemies?”  
  
“I doubt it will, but you don’t have to stay. Just until we both get back on our feet, hmm?”  
  
“I was already  _on_  my feet, thank you very much,” Hiroki snapped, running a critical eye over the bookcases for any missing or damaged titles. The movers had been astonishingly careful and efficient – Akihiko threw his money around like confetti, after all, he’d hired the  _best_  – but his books were his most valuable possession.  
  
“You needed to get out of that place.”  
  
“I thought this was about  _you_  needing a new roommate,” Hiroki challenged. “Of which I never agreed to, by the way!”  
  
“Your boss told me he was worried about you,” Akihiko remarked, waving his protests away as though they were no more troublesome than a fly. “I agree with him. I know how you are. You’ll just stay there and depress yourself instead of finding a new apartment.”  
  
 _Miyagi_. He should have known the Professor had something to do with this. Still meddling, even though he had  _no right_ …  
  
Hiroki’s shoulders sagged. Whatever. He was done.  
  
He was  _tired_.  
  
“Fine,” he muttered. “I guess it doesn’t matter for a few weeks.”  
  
Akihiko was right, in a way. Staying in that apartment… it was no good for him. Too many memories. And he didn’t need the space anymore, either. He might as well use the opportunity to break lease and go somewhere else.  
  
He turned on his heel. He needed space.  _Quiet_. “I’ll be in the guest room.”  
  
He didn’t see Akihiko’s pensive gaze follow his path.  
  
  
…………………  
  
  
Despite initial reservations, becoming Akihiko’s temporary roommate wasn’t entirely intolerable. His old friend  _did_  live in a luxurious penthouse, and Hiroki’s things were all there, so it wasn’t as though he was lacking in home comforts. And the author had in fact largely minded his own business, giving him the time and space to search for a new place in peace.  
  
For the first five days, anyway.  
  
Abruptly and without any warning, his bedroom door crashed open and Akihiko barrelled in like he owned the place, which technically  _he did_ , but Hiroki still snapped, “Haven’t you heard of knocking?!”  
  
“We’re going out.”  
  
“Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere,” Hiroki replied peevishly. “Leave me out of your plans.”  
  
“Too bad you’re not getting any say in it.” Akihiko hooked him by the arm and dragged him to his feet. “You’ve been moping inside for long enough, and I’m sick of takeout.”  
  
They were halfway down the stairs before Hiroki managed to find his feet and yank his arm free, which of course nearly sent him tumbling headfirst down said stairs if it weren’t for Akihiko catching him. “Fine! Let go, already,” he hissed. “But nowhere black tie. I can’t afford your five-star taste.”  
  
“I’ll pay.”  
  
“You  _won’t_. I’m not a charity case. I have a  _job_. Bad enough I’m living here rent free.”  
  
Akihiko shrugged. “Fine, we can go to that bar you like. The food there was decent.” He slipped into his shoes by the door, and handed Hiroki his jacket.  
  
He took it with a grimace. Going out drinking was very near to the last thing he wanted to do, but the author had a point. And it had been a long time since either of them had gone out for a meal or drinks – it had never been common, not after Hiroki started dating Nowaki, but he’d been a poor friend to Akihiko in general lately, and if he were being honest, an even poorer guest, holed up in his room like that. And he  _was_  sick of takeout.  
  
“We’re catching the train,” he said. “Last time we went there you got so drunk I had to pry your damn keys out of your hand before you got yourself killed.”  
  
Akihiko tossed his car keys onto the couch. “Happy?”  
  
“Don’t be a smartass,” Hiroki groused. “Let’s go.”  
  
  
……………….  
  
  
It wasn’t like he’d actually intended to get drunk, although some distant, foggy part of his brain suspected it had been Akihiko’s plan from the beginning. Alcohol was never his coping method of choice, but once he started…  
  
His cheeks felt warm against the prickling air-conditioning of the train carriage. “I think I drank too much.”  
  
“Hnnnn,” was the full extent of Akihiko’s response.  
  
“Thank god I don’t have work tomorrow,” he groaned, tilting his head back to stare out the window. The glass sat pleasantly cool against his temple, and the lights outside passed in an attractive blur. Some clinical part of him was already dreading the hangover, but the rest was far too mellowed out by the pleasantly relaxing buzz from five or six too many craft beers. “Not all of us can set our own hours, you know.”  
  
Akihiko didn’t comment on that either. “This is our stop.”  
  
The lights slowed, the train ground to a halt, and then he was being hauled to his feet. Hiroki stumbled against his friend as the world gently swayed around him. Akihiko just threw an arm around his shoulders, solid and warm against his side as they lurched through the thinning crowds departing the train station.  
  
“If this starts me on my path to alcoholism, I’m holding you responsible.”  
  
“You couldn’t become an alcoholic. Your taste in beer is too expensive.”  
  
“Look who’s talking.” He stumbled briefly over a crack in the pavement, but Akihiko held him up with ease. “Besides, that’s what you’re supposed to do when you get dumped, right? You’re supposed to go get drunk with friends.”  
  
“You should find somebody,” Akihiko said, the only sign of his own drunkenness in the slight burr to his voice and the rich note of alcohol rolling off his breath. Annoyingly, he’d always held his liquor better, though there was no question that he was at least tipsy himself. “That’s better than getting drunk. Go out, have a one-night stand.”  
  
Shinoda was part of his history Hiroki didn’t want to revisit, not even with the pleasant distance provided by alcohol blurring the memory. “So I can regret that, too? No way. I’m through with this… with all this,” he finished lamely. “Learned my lesson.”  
  
“You’re getting maudlin.” Even inebriated, Akihiko dropped ten dollar words like spare change. That was the glorious thing about hanging around literary geniuses. Miyagi was the same.  
  
The thought of the Professor should have sent a wave of anger through him, but Hiroki felt only numb at the reminder. He pushed away, staggering slightly. “I can walk on my own.”  
  
“If you call that walking,” Akihiko chuckled. He was  _definitely_  drunk. Akihiko didn’t  _laugh_. He hardly ever  _smiled_. “We’re here, anyway.”  
  
Blearily, Hiroki stared up at the massive apartment block. Huh. He thought the walk from the station took longer. His sense of time was clearly shot. But his friend was already walking inside and calling the elevator, leaving him scrambling to catch up.  
  
Once inside, he leaned into the corner and closed his eyes as the lift made his stomach fall. “Urgh. I’m too old for this. I’m going to have the worst hangover tomorrow.”  
  
“You really are an old man. You used to be able to put away twice that much without blinking an eye.”  
  
“Bakahiko,” Hiroki swiped as the elevator arrived at the penthouse.  
  
“Tch, so cranky. You need to get laid.”  
  
“You keep saying that. But I’m not going to hook up with some stranger for a one night stand. What else am I supposed to do? Hire a prostitute? No thanks.” Hiroki kicked off his shoes and set about shrugging off his jacket.  
  
Heavy arms suddenly enfolded him from behind, and warm breath brushed over his ear, carrying with it the cloying reminder of their evening’s drinks. “I could do it.”  
  
Hiroki stilled.  
  
When he finally found his voice, it came out rough as sandpaper. “…Don’t joke about that.”  
  
“I’m not joking.” Cool fingers ran up his neck, tangling in his hair. “You did it for me once before. I can return the favour.”  
  
It had been an unspoken contract between them to never, ever bring that night up again. It had taken  _months_  for their friendship to recover. “You regretted it.”  
  
“Things have changed since then,” Akihiko murmured, and there were lips against his throat now, not quite kissing buthe could feel every word mouthed. “Neither of us is waiting for someone else this time. We just both need to move on.”  
  
It was a stupid idea. The absolute worst. Even through the haze of alcohol, some part of him recognised that. That this wouldn’t be distraction, or comfort. That this would be  _punishment_.  
  
Except those cool fingers against his too-warm cheeks felt good, and without even meaning to he found himself pressing against Akihiko’s firm bulk at his back, and turning his face to stare into those so familiar almost-lavender eyes.  
  
The smart thing to do, the sane thing to do, would be to pull free, go to his room, and lock the door until they were  _both_  sober.  
  
Hiroki didn’t have a great track record with these kinds of decisions.  
  
“You’re overthinking, old man,” Akihiko murmured. “It’s no big deal. We’ve done this before. Just pretend I’m someone else.”  
  
Hiroki turned his face away. “You’re a cruel man.”  
  
But when Akihiko threaded their fingers together and pulled him towards his room, he followed along quietly.  
  
This time, there was no blindfold, no awkward teenage fumbling where neither of them quite knew what to do with their hands. “You’ve lost weight,” Akihiko remarked, hands settling on the bones jutting out at Hiroki’s hips. “I can see your ribs.”  
  
“And you’ve gained weight, shut up,” Hiroki muttered, balling up his shirt and tossing it carelessly aside. It had been seven years, after all – of course they’d changed.  
  
Akihiko just chuckled, and then it was like the last seven years had never happened at all – all cold hands, shallow breaths, and sweat-slick skin as they tumbled to the bed. The sheets bunched and twisted beneath his bare shoulders as Akihiko mouthed at his chest, fingers running a delicate pattern across his stomach.  
  
It had obviously been too long for them both – in what felt like no time at all, they were ready, burning arousal rushing them along. Hiroki squeezed his eyes shut, body shuddering as Akihiko slid inside. His fingers curled, tangled in the sheets, all coherent thought lost to waves of pleasure. To those oddly familiar hands gripping his waist, drifting up to tenderly cup his face. Hands too cold for the memory.  
  
“-aki… Nowaki…”  
  
It was nothing more than a breathless whisper, but Hiroki froze as soon as the word had left his lips. His eyes snapped open and caught, for just one instant, a shadow passing over his friend’s face.  
  
It was gone in an eyeblink, and some barely functioning part of his logic centres wondered if it had been a trick of the light. Then Akihiko was moving again, faster this time, and Hiroki threw his head back, spine arching.  
  
Akihiko leaned in close until their chests were almost flush, a puff of breath warming his ear. “I’ll make you forget about him.”  
  
Hiroki didn’t have the breath to reply. He just closed his eyes, and let his thoughts drift into mindless oblivion.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

As soon as Hiroki opened his eyes the next morning to a pounding headache and mouth that tasted like couch stuffing, he knew it had been a mistake.  
  
It had taken a long time, coupled with Nowaki’s stubbornness, for Hiroki to finally put his unrequited feelings for Akihiko behind him. To get over it and move on to someone who might one day actually give a damn about his feelings. To reach the point where he saw his friend and thought of him as  _nothing more_  than a friend, to where he could read his novels without entertaining hopeless fantasies or being constantly reminded of their awkward history.  
  
And in one moment of drunken weakness, he had undone seven years of progress.  
  
He peered at the alarm clock through bleary eyes. It wasn’t particularly late yet, but late enough that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.  
  
Akihiko had slung his arm over his side at some point. Hiroki made to slide out from under it, when the arm suddenly tightened around his ribs, dragging him back in. “Unnnnhhhh.”  
  
Damn, he’d forgotten what a bear Akihiko was in the morning. “Let go you big lug, I need to use the bathroom.”  
  
Akihiko simply nuzzled the back of his neck. Hiroki stiffened, then wrenched away forcibly, tumbling awkwardly out of the bed in a tangle of blankets.  
  
Akihiko finally opened his eyes a sliver. “Hn? What are you doing?” His voice was slurred with confusion.  
  
“Bathroom. Go back to sleep,” Hiroki snapped.  
  
“…Hiroki?”  
  
He slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.  
  
His breathing wouldn’t settle. He fumbled with the taps, twisting the cold water to maximum. Splashed his face as though the shock of cold might chase away the lingering dream –  _nightmare_ – and reassert reality once more.  
  
It didn’t. He was left standing at the bathroom sink, staring into the mirror as water dripped from his hair.  
  
Seven years, and the memory still burned like hot oil. He’d buried it, replaced icy hands with warm ones, but the scars had never completely healed. And now he’d torn them wide open again, and rubbed in salt for good measure.  
  
The worst part was, he didn’t even know which pair of hands haunted him the most.  
  
  
……………….  
  
  
By the time Akihiko finally sloughed his way out of bed, Hiroki had wrestled back enough of his composure to start making breakfast.  
  
The author dropped into his chair, face pinched in a truly black frown. Hiroki dumped a cup of coffee in front of him, and then followed it up with a plate.  
  
As it was, Akihiko was nearly halfway through the cup before his gaze cleared enough to properly register the food in front of him. “Toast?”  
  
“I have a hangover, I’m not up to either eating or making anything more complicated than that,” Hiroki retorted. “You want something fancier, make it yourself.”  
  
Akihiko stared at the toast, and old friends or not, Hiroki couldn’t figure out that facial expression. Disappointment? Surprise? Or just his usual early morning death stare?  
  
In the end though, he picked it up and started eating it without complaint. Hiroki busied himself with cleaning up. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but… “Your kitchen is disgusting. When was the last time you cleaned this place?”  
  
“Hmmm… Three months ago?”  
  
“Three-” Hiroki cut himself off. He couldn’t be surprised, really. “You idiot. Why don’t you just get a housekeeper already?”  
  
The light in Akihiko’s eyes this time was unmistakably mulish. “That’s not ordinary.”  
  
“You’re  _still_  going on about the commoner lifestyle thing?” He eyed the sponge in his hand with distaste. His head hurt too much to be dealing with this. “You’re living on your own money, isn’t that good enough?”  
  
The brooding silence said that it wasn’t. Hiroki just rolled his eyes and filled the sink with soapy water. None of those plates were getting clean without a thorough soaking. His stomach lurched at the sight of some of those down the bottom. On second thought, maybe he should leave it until he was less hungover.  
  
“Hiroki, how did you become so good at that sort of thing? Your family’s wealthy too.”  
  
Hiroki whacked him upside the back of his head as he passed by the trashcan. “We’re not even on the same scale, idiot. You stayed over often enough to see that.” He wasn’t any sort of home-maker, not the way Nowaki had been – the unexpected thought still made his chest tight – but it wasn’t like it was rocket science.  
  
“I suppose.” Akihiko sipped his tea, face pensive. “What are you doing today? Do you need to go to the University? I can give you a ride.”  
  
“It’s my day off. I need to go out and look for a new apartment.” Even though going out was the last thing he wanted to do right then. He fished through the cupboards. “Don’t you have any headache tablets?”  
  
“The cupboard above the sink,” Akihiko replied. “You should stay. I miss having a roommate.”  
  
“I’m not going to be your live-in maid.” Even if the author desperately needed one.  
  
“Maybe I will hire someone,” Akihiko mused. “Since this is my office too. Offices hire cleaners.”  
  
“Whatever it takes to make you feel better about it,” he grouched.  
  
This was good. This was normal. If Hiroki could just cling to this familiar banter, he would be okay.  
  
Of course, Akihiko wouldn’t let him get away with that.  
  
“Last night. You said I was a cruel man.”  
  
Hiroki froze. Several seconds too late to be natural, he managed to stammer, “W-what are you bringing that up for all of a sudden? I was  _drunk_. You can’t go quoting me on anything I say when I’m drunk, you know that.”  
  
“You’re more honest when you’re drunk. What was so cruel about it?”  
  
“Nothing. I don’t know what you’re even talking about.”  
  
Akihiko rested his chin against his palm. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”  
  
His face burned. “I-idiot! Don’t say such weird things.”  
  
“Did it help?” When Hiroki didn’t reply, choking on his words, Akihiko continued, “I didn’t expect it, but it helped me. You’re right, it’s easier to think clearly when you’re not sexually frustrated.” He took another sip of his tea. “I just hoped it did the same for you.”  
  
This was a trap of Hiroki’s own making. Seven years ago, that had been a good part of the spiel he’d used to convince Akihiko to indulge in that misguided fantasy role-play. And to admit the truth now, to confess just how messed up it left him, would be to reveal the years of unrequited affection. “…Yeah,” he lied.  
  
“We should do it again.”  
  
Hiroki sputtered and spun around. “What?! No! That was a one-time thing!”  
  
“Why does it have to be?” Akihiko asked.  
  
“What happened to the true romantic who wouldn’t sleep with someone if he didn’t care about them?” Hiroki challenged.  
  
“I care about you,” was Akihiko’s flat response. “And things change, Hiroki. You know that.” He stood up, walking forward, Hiroki backing away until he hit the edge of the countertop. “I’m surprised you’re so worked up about it.”  
  
“I-I’m not! It’s just… unexpected.”  
  
Hiroki had never been idealistic about relationships. While he was hardly cavalier about sex, he’d never considered true love or commitment a prerequisite for an encounter. He made bad decisions when lonely, or aroused, or drunk, but in the cold sober light of day ill-advised lays like Shinoda and Haruhiko were cut off as fast as possible.  
  
But he’d set the precedent, hadn’t he? That he was okay with casual sex. And when Akihiko asked if it had helped, he’d said  _yes_.  
  
“We’re  _friends_ ,” Hiroki stressed, a little desperately.  
  
“Friends with benefits,” Akihiko murmured, and wrapped him in his arms. Hiroki could barely contain the flinch.  
  
He was cornered. His brain had been paralysed – the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. But some part of him registered that Akihiko was all he had left now. All other bridges had been burned behind him – and Hiroki would set  _himself_  on fire before burning this one.  
  
“…I guess it’s okay, then,” he muttered. “If it’s helping you too.”  
  
 _It’s just sex_ , he told himself, and didn’t believe a word of it.  
  
  
……………….  
  
  
Miyagi wrapped his hands around his third cup of coffee of the morning, mouth stretched in a silent yawn. That damn Shinobu… he didn’t know how the kid ran on so little sleep. Probably napped in the afternoon while he was still at work.  
  
The door swung open, admitting a familiar thundercloud. “Morning Hiro-Kamijou~” Miyagi corrected mid-song. The cheery greeting tasted uncomfortable on his tongue, but since his underling appeared determined to rewind the clock, he could only play his part. In time what was awkward would become natural again.  
  
Kamijou eyeballed the room critically. “No brat today?”  
  
“School day.”  
  
The raised eyebrow he received in response was more eloquent than a thousand word essay. Miyagi hunched his shoulders and very dramatically focused on his coffee. “We’re keeping things platonic for now, if you must know.” The kid might have been over the legal age, but only  _barely_. He had  _some_  scruples.  
  
“Lap-sitting is platonic with high schoolers now?”  
  
Miyagi placed his coffee down. “Are we doing this now? Going to have it out finally?” He’d been waiting for the other shoe to the drop, but Kamijou’s armour had remained firmly up, and the professional politeness strictly enforced. This was the first time in weeks the conversation had ventured anywhere near the expected sniping.  
  
“You seem strangely eager for a fight, Professor,” Kamijou replied mildly. “I was just making conversation.” He sat down at his desk, pulling out some paperwork.  
  
“I suppose passive-aggressiveness is better than what you were doing before,” he mused. “Though I honestly expected for you to shout and throw things at me.”  
  
“You’ve read too many dramas. But if it would make you feel better, I could go rat you out to the Dean.”  
  
Miyagi waved his hands in surrender. “No! No, that’s fine! Ahahaha…”  
  
Kamijou continued completing a form, the scratch of his pen against paper filling the spaces between their words. “In that case, you might want to be more discreet if you’re intending to keep things quiet.”  
  
He couldn’t hide his wince at that. “Right, right. I’ll, ah, keep it in mind. Thank you for not saying anything.” It had been a real concern. He had tenure, the Dean couldn’t  _fire_  him, but he could easily take Shinobu away and make life extremely difficult for them both. An even slightly more vindictive ex could have caused a lot of trouble there with very little effort.  
  
“It’s not my business anymore.” Kamijou’s tone was flat enough to press dried leaves. “Though in return, I would appreciate it if you would avoid meddling in  _my_ life in the future, Professor.”  
  
So  _that_  was what this was about. “All I did was mention things had been a little rough for you lately, honest!” Though the fact it had been brought up at least meant his instincts were accurate and Kamijou’s friend had acted. “What am I being blamed for, anyway?”  
  
In response, Kamijou slid the form he’d been completing across the desk. Miyagi scanned it and raised an eyebrow. “Change of contact address?”  
  
Kamijou turned back to his desk, gathering his teaching materials for the day. “It’s only temporary. I’d intended to find a new place by now but it’s taking longer than planned.”  
  
“It’s better, though, right? You’re out of the old place.” No more dark apartment full of gaps. “That’s what friends are for, stepping in during the rough times.”  
  
“I’ve had just about enough of people ‘stepping in’ to my business.”  
  
The bitterness in his tone gave Miyagi pause. It was better than the cold neutrality of before, but no less unsettling. Eyeballing his co-worker more carefully… he didn’t actually  _look_  much improved. The tell-tale smudge of makeup remained under his eyes, and the hunch to his shoulders looked almost haunted.  
  
“Did something happen?”  
  
“Nothing happened.” A lie, as obvious as they got.  
  
“Kamijou…”  
  
His colleague simply tucked his folders under his arm. “Excuse me, Professor, I have class.”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

“And when will it be available?” Hiroki cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder, scribbling down details on the notepad. He paused. “Three weeks? No, sorry, I was just hoping for sooner-”  
  
“Three weeks is fine,” Akihiko said over his shoulder.  
  
Hiroki jumped, and the phone clattered to the ground. Cursing, he scrambled to pick it up, pegging his pen at Akihiko. The author merely tilted his head, and it sailed past harmlessly. “I’m sorry, yes, that’s…. okay, I’ll post the forms tomorrow. Thank you.” He hung up with a glare at his old friend. “Idiot! Now they’ll think I’m weird!”  
  
Akihiko draped himself over Hiroki’s shoulders, their faces brushing as he leaned forward to inspect the papers scattered across the coffee table. “Are you in that much of a rush to leave?”  
  
“I’m grateful for your hospitality, but I can’t stay here forever.”  
  
“Why not? I already said you could. And I have room.”  
  
Hiroki didn’t have an argument for that. Couldn’t explain what this was doing to him.  
  
“Even if it’s fine, I don’t like living on someone’s charity,” he eventually muttered.  
  
Akihiko shrugged. “If it bothers you so much, you can pay rent for here. Whatever you were going to pay for the new place.”  
  
“I want to live closer to the university. And before you say it, no, I don’t need you chauffeuring me around.”  
  
He needed out. Akihiko thought he was helping, thought that this was casual sex, playing house, a temporary escalation of their friendship in a time when they were both on the rebound.  
  
What he’d done, though, was cut off Hiroki’s last escape route. He felt hemmed in. Claustrophobic.  
  
It wasn’t that it was unpleasant. On the contrary, the sex was fantastic. Mind-blowing in fact, greater than what his adolescent fantasies had entertained even at their most vivid. A thousand times better than their first ill-advised one-night-stand. This time around, those tender words and gentle touches all bore  _his_  name.  
  
That was the problem. Akihiko had handed him his every wish on a silver platter seven years too late, and then told him that he wasn’t allowed to eat.  
  
Luckily, his friend let it drop, at least for now. Hiroki knew better than to expect the topic completely over. “If it’s that big a deal for you…” Akihiko’s fingers slid under his shirt collar - cool against the heat of his chest. “We should make the most of our remaining three weeks.”  
  
His breath hitched, but he swallowed it down. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”  
  
Akihiko’s hands just drifted further, and started undoing the top button of his shirt. “Your point?”  
  
Hiroki caught his arm. “Don’t you have a manuscript to be wri-” He cut himself off at the sound of keys in the front door.  
  
Akihiko paused, tilting his head in contemplation. “Ah, that’ll be my editor.”  
  
No sooner than the words were out of his mouth did a perky brunette wearing bright red lipstick and a pencil skirt sail into the room. “Akihiko-Sensei! Have you- oh, hello!” She stopped, blinking in confused surprise.  
  
At Hiroki, in Akihiko’s embrace and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.  
  
Hiroki wrenched away, hurriedly redoing his shirt. “I-idiot! If you knew your editor was coming over you…” He trailed off, face on fire. There was no way to end that sentence and retain any deniability.  
  
“Aikawa’s fine,” Akihiko dismissed. “Aikawa, this is Hiroki. Hiroki, Aikawa.”  
  
“Moron, what kind of half-assed introduction was that?” He nodded at Aikawa. “Hiroki Kamijou. Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Oh, right! Eri Aikawa! Nice to meet you too!” She handed over a business card. Hiroki accepted it with a murmured apology for not having one of his own on hand. Marukawa Publishing. The more frivolous side of Akihiko’s work then, unless he’d left Onedera Publishing entirely. She held up a plastic bag. “I brought along some pastries if you’d like some as well. There should be enough for three.”  
  
Since Akihiko wasn’t making any move to do so, it looked like it was up to him to play host. Honestly, for a man raised in the very highest end of town his old friend still didn’t have a grasp on even the most basic etiquette. “Ah, thank you, I’ll just make some tea.” Hiroki took the opportunity to escape to the kitchen.  
  
That idiot. Hiroki was going to  _kill_  him. He rattled around the kitchen, only the reminder of their guest preventing him from slamming doors as he fetched cups and teapot.  
  
As he shouldered his way back out into the living room, Aikawa prodded Akihiko. “Enough of that. Your manuscript, sensei?”  
  
Akihiko sighed, and dropped his cigarettes and lighter on the coffee table. “It’s written. I had the printer running, it should be done by now. Wait here.”  
  
Leaving Hiroki alone with Aikawa.  
  
“Thank you, Kamijou. Oh no, let me pour it. You don’t have to wait on me, lately I’m the one who has to do this.” She all but snatched the teapot from his hands and started serving. “So, how did you and Usami-sensei meet?” There was a strangely starry glint to her eyes.  
  
Hiroki folded his arms as he sat back on the couch awkwardly. An ingrained sense of propriety was all that kept him in his seat – after all, since when did he have to entertain  _Akihiko_ ’s guests? “We were neighbours, growing up.”  
  
She clasped her hands, her eyes practically sparkling now. “ _Childhood friends_?”  
  
“We met when we were about… ten, I think it was.” Hiroki took a bite of one of the glazed pastries, just for something to do. Sweeter than he normally liked, but it was light and fluffy and still oven-warm. “I’m only here temporarily though. I’m… between apartments at the moment.” Nice as she seemed, he was hardly going to divulge the pathetic tragedy of his personal life to a stranger.  
  
She seemed disappointed at that, but said, “Well, I’m glad you’re here. It explains a lot.”  
  
Hiroki paused mid-bite. “Hah?”  
  
Aikawa picked up her teacup, staring into the liquid with a forlorn expression. “He’s been difficult lately. I mean, he’s never been very attentive to deadlines, but it never really mattered because he’s so prolific. But after… well, you probably already know. His writing just ground to a halt. I’ve seen him moody before, but this was…” She shivered.  
  
Hiroki frowned. He seemed to recall Akihiko lounging around his office complaining about writer’s block a while ago… it had been that bad?  
  
After a moment, though, Aikawa shook herself out of it. “It was unfortunate, and it wasn’t that I didn’t understand – I hadn’t seen it coming either. I’d almost written off this deadline, but at the last minute…” She flashed him a sly grin. “I guess he finally found a new muse.”  
  
It took a moment for Aikawa’s meaning to register. Hiroki started sputtering, “I’m not, I couldn’t-”  
  
“Hiroki has always been my muse,” Akihiko said from behind him. He jumped as the author dumped the heavy manuscript on the table, Aikawa yelping as she rushed to stop the teacups from spilling. “He was the first person to ever read my work.”  
  
“Ahhh, is that true sensei?” Aikawa radiated an unnatural amount of delight for that tidbit of news. “That’s amazing!” She leaned over and grabbed Hiroki’s hands, fixing him with an intense stare. “Kamijou, I’m entrusting him to you. Don’t let me down!”  
  
“It’s not- you’re mistaken- Akihiko!” Hiroki snapped.  
  
The author in question just shrugged as he sat down and draped an arm across Hiroki’s shoulders. “But it is true.”  
  
“Takahiro?” Hiroki pointed out. “That was your whole first published book right there.”  
  
“A writer can have more than one muse. You’ve always given me a lot of ideas.”  
  
Hiroki crossed his arms with a huff. “Don’t listen to this idiot. Writing is like breathing for him. He doesn’t get writer’s block, he just  _holds his breath_  until he can’t anymore.”  
  
In some tiny, neglected corner of his heart, however, a tiny rose of warmth began to blossom.  
  
The slightest of smiles graced Akihiko’s lips. “He’s right, in a way,” Akihiko admitted to Aikawa. “I suppose he knows me too well after all these years.”  
  
Except its thorns dripped poison, and it was rooted so deeply in his pride Hiroki couldn’t pull it free.  
  
“You’re so close,” Aikawa complimented them. “It makes me a little envious, honestly.”  
  
This was going to kill him.  
  
“I’ll leave you two to finish your work in private,” Hiroki said, standing and hurrying away from the living room before either of them could protest. He shut his bedroom door behind him, and pressed his back against it.  
  
He was in too deep already.  
  
“Three weeks,” he murmured. He only needed to hold it together three more weeks.

  
………………..

  
  
Three weeks was an eternity.  
  
Hiroki couldn’t decide whether he dreaded its end, or if it couldn’t come fast enough.  
  
His pen idled on the page, eyes unfocused, the words a blur. Four more days until his new apartment became available.  
  
What happened then, he didn’t know. He doubted Akihiko would simply flip the switch on this weird friends-with-benefits thing they had going on. All Hiroki knew was that he desperately needed to catch his breath. He needed space. Distance, so he could harden his heart again and regain a sense of composure he hadn’t needed for seven years.  
  
The office door slid open, jerking him from his reverie. “Kamijou? You’re still here? I didn’t think you had any classes left today.” Miyagi tilted his head, brow furrowed in contemplation. “And I thought you’d already finished your journal submission.”  
  
“Getting ahead on marking,” he replied flatly. “The end of semester is coming up. And it’s still office hours, Professor.”  
  
Miyagi glanced at his watch guiltily. “Oh, right. Right, of course. Ah, if I leave a little early, will you…?”  
  
The Professor had been doing this more and more recently, leaving as soon as his classes were done for the day. Not neglecting his work, but taking it home with him instead of remaining at the office until after dark as he used to. Maybe because of the lingering air of awkwardness and tension in the office, but Hiroki suspected otherwise. After all, he’d caught a glimpse of that sandy-haired brat in the hall more than once. “You can’t expect me to cover for you forever, Professor.” At Miyagi’s hangdog expression, though, Hiroki sighed. “…Fine, I guess. It’s only half an hour.” The odds of any of the third or fourth year students coming by for consultation at this time of day were slim anyway.  
  
“Ahhh, Kamijou, you’re the best~!” Miyagi sang. “Are you sure it’s no trouble, though? I don’t want to keep you here if you have something of your own to get to.”  
  
“It’s fine,” he repeated.  
  
Miyagi spent a moment gathering his things. “You’ve been working late a lot recently,” he remarked nonchalantly. “Even though we’re not busy at the moment. You should be taking advantage, you know. Quiet periods like these don’t come along often.”  
  
Hiroki tensed. “I thought I told you not to meddle, Professor.”  
  
He threw up his hands in a gesture of defence. “Not meddling, not meddling… just worried. Problems with your friend?”  
  
His colleague was too damn nosy. “…It would be easier if there were,” he muttered under his breath.  
  
It hadn’t been intended for Miyagi’s ears, but the Professor heard anyway. He paused as he picked up his bag. “You know, Kamijou… just because I wasn’t reliable… you haven’t given up on everyone else, have you?”  
  
Hiroki closed his eyes. “Have a good evening, Professor.”  
  
Miyagi left the office in silence.  
  
No students came by – the lull between the issuing of assignments and their due dates. Hiroki’s pen scratched against paper in the silence, until the setting sun turned the office orange. Then even that light faded, and he abandoned his marking, and stared out the window.  
  
Four days.  
  
He gathered his things. Slung his bag over his shoulder.  
  
His phone trilled. He fumbled for it. “Hello?”  
  
“ _Hiroki. Are you finished yet?”_  
  
His heart skipped a beat, and he cursed it for its weakness. “Bakahiko, what do you want?”  
  
 _“I’m outside_. _”_  
  
“You’re  _what_?”  
  
 _“You’ve been working late, so I came to pick you up_. _”_  
  
“Idiot, without calling first? What if I weren’t finished?”  
  
 _“Then I’d wait in your office. Do I need to find a parking space or not?”_  
  
Hiroki groaned. “No, I was just leaving anyway. I’ll be right there.” At least the campus was empty enough by now that Akihiko’s flashy car wouldn’t attract much attention. The ride he might appreciate, but the spectacle not so much.  
  
He locked up the office and headed to the carpark, where sure enough a distinctive red sportscar idled on the kerb. Hiroki hopped in with a huff. “Bakahiko, what’s the big idea?”  
  
“I wanted to see you,” was the simple reply. Akihiko reached up and ran a hand through his hair, Hiroki instinctively stilling under the gentle touch. “You haven’t been around much the past few days.”  
  
“I’ve been busy, is all,” he muttered. His cheeks felt too warm. “Get going already.”  
  
It was stupid. Every day he swore to himself that he would pull away, that he wouldn’t let it get to him, that  _this_  time when Akihiko asked he would make an excuse. That he wouldn’t let himself feel that blossoming warmth with every tender word, or that passionate heat with every charged touch. That he wouldn’t fall any deeper into his old feelings.  
  
Every day he failed. The minute he laid eyes on his old friend, or his smooth baritone caught his ears, his resolve melted like an ice cube thrown into an iron forge.  
  
He was an addict, and Akihiko was his drug. Even if he knew it was a false high, even if he knew it would destroy him in the end, he kept coming back for more. It was pathetic, really. Seven years, and he was still as hopeless as he’d been in college.  
  
The drive back to the apartment went in comfortable silence – neither he nor Akihiko were naturally talkative, and they’d known each other long enough to not feel the pressure to make idle conversation. The minute they entered the penthouse, though, Akihiko’s hands were on his hips and his mouth on his throat.  
  
“A-Akihiko!” Hiroki gasped. His tote bag slipped from his fingers, thudding onto the floor.  
  
“You left without waking me this morning,” he murmured into the crook of his neck.  
  
“Because I didn’t want to be late when you decided I was your personal teddy bear,” Hiroki managed to grit out, even as Akihiko’s hands wandered forward. “You’re an adult, you can wake up whenever you-hey!” He caught the author’s fingers as they started working the button of his pants. “You just picked me up from work because you were randy,” he accused.  
  
“That wasn’t the  _only_  reason.” The amusement was clear in his voice.  
  
Hiroki closed his eyes. “After dinner,” he said. “Otherwise we’ll wind up going to sleep without eating again.” And if Akihiko was a bear normally, that didn’t compare at all to the mornings when he woke up hungry.  
  
His hands slid down, then dropped, and the author stepped away. “We’ll order in. It’ll be faster.”  
  
That suited Hiroki fine. After all, any cooking had to be done by him – anything else invited disaster. But Akihiko would almost certainly get impatient and drape himself all over his shoulders and then Hiroki would get derailed and they would wind up eating charcoal stir-fry anyway. “Anything except pizza.”  
  
“What do you take me for?” Akihiko waved a hand at him. “I’ll call, go take your shower.”  
  
Hiroki retreated upstairs to the bathroom. As he stripped off and stepped under the fine spray his skin prickled with the thrill of anticipation, while his gut churned with quiet anxiety.  
  
He was addicted, all right.  
  
He stayed in until the steam fogged the mirror and flushed his face red. His mind was blank as he towelled off and shrugged into a fresh shirt and pants. Maybe a waste – especially if they were going to wind up rumpled on the floor of the bedroom in an hour.  
  
“Bathroom’s free,” he called out, before heading downstairs and selecting one of his books from the shelves and settling onto the couch.  
  
He couldn’t have made it more than a chapter before the entrance buzzer sounded. The food delivery. “That was fast,” he muttered, slipping a bookmark in place. He pressed the button that unlocked the front entrance and went scrounging for his wallet.  
  
The sound of running water upstairs died off as Akihiko finished his shower. A moment later there was a tentative knock on the door. “Coming!” Hiroki called, finally locating his wallet wedged between the couch cushions.  
  
Except when he swung open the front door, it wasn’t the food delivery at all. Instead, standing awkwardly in the entrance was an altogether too-familiar brown-haired green-eyed teenager, clutching the hem of his shirt so hard the fabric had begun to stretch.  
  
“You-” The words died in Hiroki’s throat.  
  
 _Misaki Takahashi._

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

Hiroki scrambled to regain his composure. “What the hell are  _you_  doing here?!” For one horrible moment, he thought maybe something had happened to Nowaki. An accident, or a terrible illness. What other possible reason could this kid have for seeking him out?  
  
The kid in question flailed wildly. “Ah! It’s the Dev- Kamijou-sensei! What- what are you- I’m here to see Usagi-san!”  
  
…Usagi? That old, stupid nickname he hadn’t heard since high school, and only ever from the lips of that damned Takahiro.  
  
Takahashi.  
  
Misaki  _Takahashi_.  
  
Hiroki leaned against the doorframe and started laughing.  
  
“This is a joke, right?” he choked out. “Some cosmic force is making a tragic mockery of my life.”  
  
“Ah… Kamijou-sensei?” Misaki ventured nervously.  
  
He’d barely noticed the last name when Nowaki said it. It was the third most common name in Japan, after all, right up there with Tanaka or Suzuki. ‘Misaki’ stuck out for being more typically a girl’s name, so he’d never once given it any more thought.  
  
Takahiro’s little brother. He was such a fool.  
  
He dragged a hand over his face. “And you’re back to see Akihiko. Things not working out with Nowaki?” Would serve them right.  
  
“Nowa- How do you know about that?!” Misaki stammered.  
  
“Misaki?” Akihiko had come downstairs at the commotion, towel draped across his shoulders, and now stood frozen and wide-eyed in the foyer.  
  
“Ah! Usagi-san…” Misaki pushed past him into the penthouse. “I- I’m sorry! I couldn’t think of where else to go…”  
  
“Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him.” Akihiko switched from stunned to looming evil in an eye-blink.  
  
“No! I’m not- I’m sorry. We… we fought, and I had to leave, and I… it was getting late, and I needed somewhere to go, and I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be a burden but-”  
  
“Shhhh, calm down,” Akihiko consoled him, catching Misaki’s face in his hands, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “You’re not a burden. I’m glad you’re here instead of out on the streets this late at night. Come here, sit down.”  
  
Hiroki watched them with hooded eyes. Watched Akihiko’s gentle attendance, careful touches, and apparent willingness to completely gloss over his former roommate’s transgressions. Despite the fact that merely weeks ago Aikawa had been whispering to Hiroki about writer’s block and silent tragedy. Despite the memory of his friend haunting his office couch, asking how someone could fall out of love.  
  
That sort of self-sacrificing devotion he’d seen only once before. He’d seen it in years of silent pining. In his best friend asking after Takahiro’s crushes and then girlfriend and then fiancée, offering congratulations on every milestone of their relationship even as it tore his heart apart.  
  
Hiroki quietly slipped on his jacket and stepped out the door.  
  
The gentle click of it shutting behind him muted their voices to an indecipherable murmur. Hiroki walked away, pressing the call button for the elevator with a half-smile lingering painfully on his lips.  
  
That, it appeared, was the end of that.

  
  
……………….

  
  
It seemed as though Hiroki blinked and found himself at the University. His feet had operated on automatic, dragging him along the familiar path while his brain turned the last twist in the tragicomedy of his love life over and over. Large swathes of the building sat dark and quiet. The computer labs and library would still be open, and the science faculty ran evening lectures until late, but the arts wing of Mitsuhashi was nearly completely deserted. His footsteps echoed eerily down the lonely hallway.  
  
He very nearly turned on his heel at the door. Surely coming to the office was a terrible idea. This was a shared space with Miyagi, which hardly helped his mental state currently. But for now it was empty and quiet and filled with books, and he couldn’t think of a better place to go. He would be getting the keys to his new apartment in a matter of days, and could stay in a business hotel or something until then, but just for tonight… he needed somewhere private and familiar. And the office was the last familiar place left.  
  
He let himself in, hand groping for the light switch. Turned on of the coffee maker and let the quiet bubbling of the percolator dampen the stifling silence. He sank into his chair and rested his forehead against the smooth wood of his desk.  
  
He’d known this day was coming from the start. It had always been nothing more than a temporary dream, a wish briefly fulfilled. A trap of his own making. He’d been mentally prepared for the consequences.  
  
But that it was Takahiro’s little brother? That it was the same brat  _Nowaki_  had dumped him for?  
  
It was too much to take.  
  
The silence shattered under the jingle of his mobile ringtone. Hiroki didn’t move until it stopped, then sighed and fumbled to retrieve it from his jacket. It was lucky he even had it with him – he’d left the penthouse with nothing more than what had been in reach. His wallet and his phone and not much else.  
  
His brow furrowed when he registered the screen. Sixteen missed calls? Thirteen messages? How out of it had he been walking here? It wasn’t  _that_  noisy on the streets that he couldn’t hear it.  
  
Before he could click through, a rapid series of knocks thudded against the door.  
  
Miyagi? But he’d left before Hiroki that day, off to another clandestine meeting with his brat, and he would have just let himself in anyway. It was too late for any students to be coming by, office hours were long over. The janitor, perhaps?  
  
He glanced again at his phone, seized by trepidation.  
  
“…Hiro-san? Are you there?”  
  
Before he could find his voice – or even decide whether to answer – the door slid open, and there he stood.  
  
 _Nowaki_.  
  
It had been over four months since he’d last seen him. Somewhere in the back of his head he’d become transparent, unreal, like a spectre that only haunted his memories. The shock of seeing him in the flesh, looking no different to that day he’d handed over his key… it was like he’d been dreaming, and had suddenly awoken to sharp, hyper-detailed reality.  
  
He struggled to find his voice. “…You… what are you…”  
  
“I’m sorry, Hiro-san,” Nowaki murmured. “I didn’t – I didn’t know where else to go.”  
  
Funny, he’d just heard those words elsewhere. “So you came  _here_?”  
  
Nowaki shrugged and looked away. “I guess… I wanted to see you.” He fidgeted briefly. “You weren’t at the old apartment anymore, and you weren’t answering your phone, so…”  
  
“I moved,” Hiroki snapped. “And that’s too bad, because I don’t want to see  _you_.” He made to shove past. To go where, he didn’t know, just  _somewhere else_.  
  
“Wait, Hiro-san!” Nowaki grabbed his arm, pulling him back into the room.  
  
“Let  _go_  of me!” Hiroki wrenched free, stumbling against the couch. “What are you here for, anyway? You had a fight with your precious Misaki and thought you would go see your ex?”  
  
Nowaki went wide-eyed. “How do you know about that?”  
  
He was  _not_  so pathetic as to spill his guts to his former boyfriend on this matter. To admit he’d been effectively dumped  _twice_  – even if it had never been anything other than a casual fling with Akihiko – because of the same damn Takahashi was a blow his pride would never be able to take. “Lucky guess,” he sneered.  
  
They stood off for half a minute, caught at an awkward impasse – Nowaki blocking the door, and Hiroki unwilling to move any closer.  
  
“…Are you okay, Hiro-san?” Nowaki eventually asked. “You don’t look well.”  
  
He whirled around, making a show of sorting his desk, just for something else to look at. “I’ve been busy, is all.”  
  
“Where did you move to?”  
  
“None of your business!”  
  
His ears caught the faint beep of buttons a moment later. “…Usami-san?”  
  
He spun back around, snatching his phone out of Nowaki’s grasp. “Give me that! What are you, a crazy stalker?” It was open to the messages – several from Nowaki himself apparently, but the top ones were from Akihiko, asking where he’d gone and when he would be home.  
  
Nowaki’s eyes were dark. “Why are you staying with  _him_?”  
  
“Are you jealous?” He asked incredulously. Nowaki avoided his gaze, all but answering the question. “You don’t  _get_  to be jealous. You dumped  _me_ , remember?”  
  
“I just… I didn’t imagine, is all. That you would… with him. Not so soon, anyway.”  
  
“What, were you hoping I’d remain single forever?” Technically he was single now, but Nowaki didn’t need to know that. “Did you think that you could just come back if things didn’t work out and say you were sorry and I would take you back?”  
  
Nowaki remained silent.  
  
Hiroki froze, staring at him. “…You’re serious.” A laugh bubbled in his throat with the taste of bile. “It must be nice, to think you can just go back when you make a mistake. To change your feelings so easily.” He crossed his arms. “How  _convenient_.”  
  
“I never stopped caring about you, Hiro-san,” Nowaki murmured.  
  
“But you cared about  _him_  more.” It was a struggle not to pin all the blame on the Takahashi brat. Hiroki had always resented those exes who raged at the interloper instead of saving their ire for the one who’d betrayed them directly. He was only now discovering how powerful that particular impulse was. He took a deep breath, and forced down the shaking rage crawling up his spine. “All I ever needed was to know that I was your most important person.”  
  
“Hiro-san…”  
  
“No,” Hiroki snapped. “Let’s get one thing straight - I am  _not_  your backup lover. I gave you chance after chance after chance – and you threw them all back in my face. No matter how much I loved you, I’m not stupid enough to repeat that mistake. I have my  _pride_.”  
  
His pride was all he had left.  
  
Nowaki looked stricken. “Hiro-san, that wasn’t what I -”  
  
“Hardly anyone ever  _thinks_  of it like that, idiot, but that’s what it boils down to if you just had the guts to admit it. Why else would you be  _here_?” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He was  _tired_. He barely had the energy left to be angry anymore. “I don’t get it, anyway. What caused trouble in paradise?”  
  
Staring at his feet, Nowaki confessed, “It’s my fault, really. Tsumori-senpai was messing around, and there have been a lot of emergencies lately, and...” He trailed off helplessly.  
  
Hiroki could guess the rest. Dating a medical intern… it was hard. The lonely nights when Nowaki had to work late, the missed anniversaries and birthdays, the days at a time when they didn’t see each other… the slightest hint of insecurity would make them unbearable. Even now, looking back, he could scarcely believe it had been worth it.  
  
Still… it pissed him off. Some churlish part of him wanted to crow ‘I told you so’, revelled in the knowledge that he’d been taken for granted, but a much larger part of him was indignant that their seven years had been dumped for something that hadn’t even lasted a full  _six months_. “Idiot.” He slapped him on the head with a newspaper.  
  
Nowaki blinked in surprise. “Hiro-san…?”  
  
He scoffed, picking up his jacket and sliding his arms back into the sleeves. “It’s not like you to give up so easily.”  
  
In the following silence, he could almost hear the gears grinding in Nowaki’s head as he processed that. His eyes slowly cleared, followed by the slightest of smiles on his face.  
  
“Thank you Hiro-san. You’re so kind.”  
  
“Get out of here. I’m leaving,” Hiroki huffed in response.  
  
Nowaki shuffled out with a duck of his head. Then he was all but running down the halls. Hiroki could guess where he was going.  
  
Idiot.  
  
Hiroki locked up the office behind him. He’d rethought spending the night there – he’d go find some business hotel to crash in. After all, if Nowaki thought to look for him here…  
  
He just wanted to curl up somewhere alone with an armful of books and lick his wounds in private. Was that too much to ask?

  
  
…………………..

  
  
It was too much to ask.  
  
“You’re late,” Miyagi greeted with a smile as soon as Hiroki stepped into the office the next morning.  
  
“I know,” he grumbled. “Sorry. Train line troubles.” Having to stop at the department store to pick up a fresh shirt hadn’t helped either.  
  
“Well, your class doesn’t start for another hour so I suppose it’s fine,” Miyagi remarked, his tone unnaturally sunshiny. “Although the strangest thing this morning, when I arrived there was already somewhere here waiting for you.”  
  
Hiroki froze.  
  
It couldn’t have been Nowaki again, not after last night. That only left…  
  
“Usami, wasn’t it?” Miyagi continued airily. “Wanted to know where you were.”  
  
Hiroki’s gaze darted to the door. His hands gripped the back of his chair, caught in the awkward limbo between fight and flight.  
  
It must have shown, as Miyagi added, “Don’t worry, he’s not outside anymore.”  
  
Hiroki blinked. “You chased him off?”  
  
Miyagi stubbed out his cigarette, sending wisps of white smoke curling towards the ceiling. “Considering your lovers keep turning up here whenever things go sour, can I ask what happened?”  
  
“We’re not-” Hiroki cut himself off. “We weren’t like that.”  
  
Not exactly. It had just been a casual thing, after all. ‘Friends with benefits’.  
  
“Really?” Miyagi turned thoughtful, gaze dwelling distantly on the couch. “That’s odd. He seemed almost frantic.”  
  
 _Akihiko_? Frantic? The Professor was exaggerating things as usual. “He’s just an idiot. I sent a message saying I wouldn’t be back last night.” And had turned off his phone right after, admittedly. He palmed the rectangle of plastic in his pocket, but didn’t take it out.  
  
A dying butterfly of hope fluttered feebly in his stomach. He crushed it underfoot, grinding its gossamer wings to dust.  
  
He couldn’t afford to hope. He didn’t dare. Not after being disappointed time and time and time again. Not just by Akihiko. By  _everyone_.  
  
“If you say so. It just wasn’t the impression I got from you, that’s all,” Miyagi remarked.  
  
“It was never mutual. Not in the way it counted.” Hiroki couldn’t stop the bitterness from creeping into his voice. “And it’s not your business anymore anyway, Professor.”  
  
His words lacked the usual sharpness though, and Miyagi must have noticed because instead of retreating he gently pressed, “Maybe not, but a sympathetic ear could help? Keeping everything bottled up isn’t healthy.”  
  
“It’s no big deal,” he insisted. At Miyagi’s look, he bristled, but admitted with forced nonchalance, “If you  _must_  know, I got dumped. That’s all.”  
  
“ _Again_?” At Hiroki’s glare, Miyagi winced. “Ah, right, that was tactless. But didn’t you just say you weren’t involved?”  
  
“He wasn’t. I, on the other hand, apparently can’t help myself.” Hiroki sank into his chair and set his head in his hands, wishing vainly that he could go somewhere and get drunk instead of dealing with work and Miyagi. Except with his recent track record, that would probably only result in him going home with some seedy stalker type and give him another bag of regrets.  
  
“So what exactly did happen then? Did you fight?” Miyagi asked, setting a cup of hot coffee down in front of him. Hiroki stared at it mistrustfully before eventually accepting it with a nod of thanks.  
  
“No. Nothing like that.”  
  
“Then?”  
  
“Apparently all the men I get involved with have a type,” was Hiroki’s wry response. “And in Akihiko’s and Nowaki’s case, that type is very specific.” At Miyagi’s blank expression, he added, “Akihiko’s ex came over last night. Turns out he and Nowaki had a fight.”  
  
Miyagi’s brow furrowed as he processed that, then his face pinched. “It was-”  
  
“Right.” It wasn’t even the full story, but it was plenty bad enough without dragging Takahiro’s name into it.  
  
“You didn’t know?”  
  
“I should have.” He ran a tired hand across his forehead. “I’m a damn fool.”  
  
“That’s…” It said something profound when a professor of  _literature_  was left groping for words. “…unlucky.”  
  
“You don’t even know the worst of it,” Hiroki muttered under his breath.  
  
“So that’s it, then? You’re just giving up? Not even going to tell your friend how you feel?”  
  
“There’s no point, Professor.” His mind’s eye flashed to Akihiko’s concerned face and gentle touch, guiding Misaki Takahashi to the couch like he was handling a delicate jewel. Even  _if_ Nowaki got his act together and he and Misaki patched things up, now that Hiroki had seen that look… “I’m not so desperate and clingy that I’m willing to be someone’s second choice.”  
  
“You’re not a second choice.”  
  
For one long moment Hiroki stared, attempting to reconcile that voice with Miyagi’s face. But Miyagi’s lips hadn’t moved, and his expression had shifted to one of sheepish guilt, and Akihiko was rising from behind the couch like some sort of nightmarish, white-haired zombie.  
  
Hiroki spun back to Miyagi, the very image of a cobra about to spit venom. “You-”  
  
“Not actually meddling, technically,” Miyagi protested before he could get the words out. “It was just lucky timing. And I didn't lie! Not once!”  
  
“It's not his fault,” Akihiko said. “I was browsing the shelves and dropped a book there. You arrived while I was fetching it and I simply chose to stay there.”  
  
“Well, in the interest of honesty, I  _maybe_  waved him back down,” admitted Miyagi. “But in my defence, who could avoid an opportunity like that?” He pursed his lips. “…Okay maybe it was meddling after all.”  
  
“Hiroki,” Akihiko said, and then he was right there, grasping his wrist, hands like ice and breath warm against his face and  _too close_. “I think we need to talk.”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

Miyagi shooed them out the door with a promise that he would cover Hiroki’s classes and office hours that day ‘because he owed him some hours anyway’.  
  
Hiroki went along in a sort of numb horror – because Akihiko had  _heard_. Had heard every word of that pathetic, embarrassing pronouncement. His brain had shut down, incapable of repeating anything beyond the one horrible realisation that Akihiko  _knew_.  
  
The roaring in his ears was the sound of his last bridge about to burn behind him.  
  
“Are you awake in there, Hiroki?”  
  
They were in Akihiko’s flashy car, which he didn’t actually remember getting into, but the scenery flashing by the windows was startlingly familiar. The car rumbled amidst the traffic, the purr of the engine rising and falling with each traffic light.  
  
“Hiroki?”  
  
“Where are we going?” he managed, even though he already knew the answer.  
  
“My place.”  
  
It made a certain sort of sense. He needed to go back to Akihiko’s at some point anyway. All his things were still there. His books and marking and clothes.  
  
“Where did you go last night?”  
  
Hiroki bristled. “Maybe I went out, had a one-night stand. That’s what you keep recommending, right?”  The car swerved, and Hiroki grabbed for the dashboard. “Watch where you’re driving!”  
  
Akihiko glared out of the corner of his eyes, and the darkness of the stare made him recoil. It was a poisonous expression he’d seen only rarely, and even then only reserved for the likes of Haruhiko, never him.  
  
It lasted only a matter of moments, thankfully. “You’re lying,” Akihiko concluded, and turned back to the road.  
  
Hiroki sputtered. “I’m- What would you know, anyway?” he declared hotly.  
  
“Because if you were the sort of person to actually do that, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”  
  
There was no response he could make to that, no denial that wouldn’t ring hollow to their ears.  
  
Hiroki turned to stare out the window instead of answering.  
  
Akihiko’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, but the author didn’t say another word until they were pulling into the apartment complex’s garage, the too-bright light of the midmorning sun abruptly eclipsed in grey, grimy shadows. The sports car pulled to a stop. With a twist of the key, the engine rumbled into silence, ticking loudly as it cooled, its echo muted through the car doors.  
  
Neither moved. “Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  
“Idiot,” Hiroki muttered. “You not finding out was the whole point.” He undid his seatbelt. “You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll just make myself scarce for a while. It’ll blow over.”  
  
His hand had barely landed on the door when suddenly his seat was falling. Hiroki crashed back with a startled yelp, and then Akihiko was half-leaning over him, one hand pinning him down, lavender-blue eyes so dark they were almost violet.  
  
“I think,” the author stated with exaggerated care, “that there have been some misunderstandings.”  
  
“What is there to misunderstand?” Akihiko didn’t want to rub it in, did he? He couldn’t be that cruel – not intentionally.  
  
“You seem to think that I don’t have any feelings for you.”  
  
“You-” The word lodged in his throat, thick and heavy with disbelief.  
  
“I love you.” Akihiko said the words so easily, like they didn’t just shatter what precious little coherency was left in Hiroki’s brain, like they didn’t upend his entire world and every truth within it. He could hate him, just a little, at that moment, for how he could do that without a care.  
  
“But, Misaki-”  
  
“Broke up with me months ago. He wasn’t here to get back together with me, Hiroki. If you’d stuck around instead of jumping to conclusions, you would already know that.”  
  
“But…” Hiroki groped for the words he held so dear, words which had so cruelly deserted him. “You love him.”  
  
There was no disguising the pain in Akihiko’s eyes. “…Yes.”  
  
“And that’s why we can never work,” Hiroki explained, with a tiny, bitter grin he hoped proved a better mask than his friend’s. “Move, Bakahiko. I’m not having this conversation lying on my back in your car.”  
  
Akihiko’s hand just pressed down harder. Hiroki could have dislodged it easily enough, but the intensity in his friend’s expression shackled him in place. “No. You’ll just run away again. And you’re deliberately misunderstanding me. I already said I wasn’t getting back together with him.”  
  
Hiroki bristled. “Oh, so that makes it okay, does it? I already said it to Nowaki last night. No matter how I feel, I’m not going to be someone’s backup boyfriend.”  
  
A growl of frustration built in Akihiko’s throat. “You’re being difficult. You know-” He cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Loving him doesn’t make you a backup, Hiroki.” He cut him an irritated glance. “It’s never that simple with exes. You know that. You still haven’t forgotten  _him_ , after all. Not even after your fling with the Professor.”  
  
“I  _had_.” Had gone for almost a whole day not thinking of Nowaki at one point, before the little terrorist of a brat had shown up and destroyed what precious stability he’d gathered. “It just got stirred up again, that’s all.” He forced a laugh, and hated himself for how his voice wobbled. “Maybe dating on the rebound doesn’t work after all.”  
  
“It helped me get over Takahiro,” Akihiko offered.  
  
Hiroki’s gaze slid to the side, his fingers tightening on the upholstery.  _And Nowaki helped me get over you_. “You were never actually dating Takahiro, idiot.” It was vicious, even for him, but anything to make Akihiko back away, to not see, to not  _notice_. To preserve that last fragile little scrap of pride left clinging to the flagpole of his ego.  
  
He’d underestimated exactly how far his old friend had come, though. Akihiko simply shrugged the poisonous words off and said, “Sometimes, it can be hard to move on if you don’t have anything to move  _to_.”  
  
Hiroki couldn’t help the tears springing to his eyes at that. Something to move  _to_? Why not him, when he’d been there  _all along_? It might have spared him wasting  _seven years_  of his life on stupid  _Nowaki_.  
  
“Hiroki?”  
  
“Ah!” Hurriedly, he wiped at his eyes and tried to rise. “Sorry, what am I- my eyes are just tired, I didn’t sleep well-”  
  
“Hiroki.” Akihiko caught his hand. “Why won’t you believe me?”  
  
He yanked his hand away, cradling it against his chest defensively. “Because you loved Takahiro for  _years_ , idiot, even when he was prancing around with that girlfriend of his and getting engaged. And the last thing I want is to lose out to yet another Takahashi!”  
  
"Another...?"  
  
Hiroki froze.  
  
Akihiko leaned down until their noses were almost touching, grip suddenly so tight it was painful. “Hiroki…  _exactly how long have you felt that way_?”  
  
He was off balance. Too much had happened already. Nothing made sense anymore. There was nothing left to do but fully commit himself to the twisted nightmare so that it might finally be over. “Since forever, idiot. Since I was old enough to even know what love is.”  
  
There. He’d said it. Finally.  
  
Something wretched slithered across Akihiko’s face at those words. An expression Hiroki had never wanted to see. He braced himself for what would come, no longer caring. The last of his emotional reserves were spent. His oldest friend knew now. Everything. The last of his armour stripped away.  
  
“That night when we were drunk…” Akihiko began. “Hearing another’s man’s name, in that situation…” His head dropped to Hiroki’s shoulder, voice muffled against his shirt. “That was when I knew. It tore me apart. And now, to realise that I did so much worse to you…”  
  
“I-idiot,” Hiroki stammered. “It was my fault, not yours.” This was not the expected script.  
  
“I might have spared us both a lot of trouble if I hadn’t been so blind back then.” He chuckled, and the sound shuddered against his chest. “Well. That explains a lot.” At last he raised his head. “But I don’t love Takahiro anymore. No more than a friend. You know that, don’t you?”  
  
“Are you sure?” Hiroki croaked. “If Takahiro divorced his wife and came to you, would you say no? Do you  _know_  that?”  
  
“I would. And I still love Misaki, but I would say no to him as well. And in time I won’t love Misaki anymore, either. And you’ll stop loving Nowaki, and it will just be us.”  
  
They were sweet words. Everything he’d ever wanted. But… “Fine,” Hiroki murmured. ‘Okay then. If you’re sure.”  
  
Akihiko drew back, considering. “You don’t believe it, do you? You don’t think this will last.”  
  
The laugh tore from his throat like breaking glass. “It never lasts. It’s always some guy experimenting with his sexuality before settling down with a wife, or someone who just wants no-strings sex, or someone who’s just biding their time until they find some younger, more pliable thing to chase.” He turned his head to avoid those searching eyes. “Maybe it won’t be Takahiro or Misaki, but it’ll be someone else eventually. It always is.”  
  
Akihiko’s grip tightened again, and Hiroki let out a hiss between his teeth, finally prying the arm off. Akihiko let him, gaze turned distant. “I should kill them for what they’ve done to you. Even if it brought us together.”  
  
“Stop it with the overdramatic speeches already. You’re such a writer,” Hiroki huffed, though his cheeks coloured all the same. He cranked the seat back up. “Who talks like that, honestly.”  
  
“I thought you liked my writing.” The quip was almost distracted, until the author turned his full attention upon him again. “I’ll prove you wrong, Hiroki. Even if it takes a lifetime.” He reached for his hand, and threaded their fingers together. “We’ve known each other for a long time. You know I don’t break my word.”  
  
He was an idiot. A moron who couldn’t say no, who would condemn himself again and again and again to the same cursed fate. “Yeah, I do know you. A true romantic to the last. I already said yes, didn't I?”  
  
Akihiko smiled, a genuine actual  _smile_ , at him, and leant in to steal a kiss. It lasted far too long and moved beyond chaste with stunning speed.  
  
When they finally broke apart, Hiroki was pressed awkwardly against the car window with the door handle digging into his back. “We’re both too old to be doing this in the car, Bakahiko.” His words came out far breathier than he liked.  
  
“Apartment,” Akihiko agreed immediately. They were out of the car and into the elevator in record time.

  
  
………………….

  
  
It wasn’t until they reached the threshold of the apartment that Hiroki realised something was still wrong. Specifically, the extra pair of sneakers sitting at the entrance.  
  
“He’s still  _here_?”  
  
Akihiko gripped his hand, as though fearing he was about to bolt. “I chose you. What I had with Misaki is over. I won’t apologise for it. But I could hardly turf him out. He’s the younger brother of an old, dear friend, after all.”  
  
That was… infuriatingly reasonable. But Hiroki was still far too off-kilter to be feeling reasonable.  
  
“Usagi-san?” Their entrance had, apparently, been noted as Misaki tentatively wandered downstairs. He blinked and recoiled. “Ah, and Kamijou-sensei! You’re back!”  
  
“I didn’t expect you to still be here,” Hiroki admitted more sourly than intended. Akihiko’s hand tightened, although whether it was in censure or reassurance he couldn’t tell. He was genuinely curious though, so tried in a more neutral tone, “Haven’t made up with Nowaki yet?”  
  
“I haven’t spoken to him,” Misaki admitted, face red, fists clenched, and eyes fixed firmly on the floor.  
  
“What? I’m surprised that idiot isn’t banging down the door.”  
  
Misaki cringed. “He probably doesn’t know where I am.”  
  
It hadn’t occurred to him that Nowaki might not have realised that ‘ _Usagi-san_ ’ was in fact, Akihiko.  
  
That… actually helped. It was ludicrous, of course, but considering Hiroki hadn’t put together the pieces of the puzzle until standing face to face with them, it was entirely possible Nowaki remained oblivious. Likely in fact, if his confusion at Hiroki’s apparent prescience was anything to go by. But the knowledge that his former lover hadn’t  _knowingly_  shacked up with Akihiko’s latest infatuation made the whole affair more ridiculously tragic than maliciously painful.  
  
The phone rang, shattering the awkward silence. “Ah, that might be Aikawa-san,” Misaki piped up. “She came by earlier, while you were still out.”  
  
Hiroki could  _feel_  Akihiko staring at him from the corner of his eyes. “It can wait.”  
  
“Idiot, go answer the damn phone. I’m not going anywhere,” Hiroki huffed, pulling his hand free and shoving the author towards the phone. “Or she’ll just keep calling back, you know that.” ‘ _And coming around at an inconvenient time’_  went unspoken.  
  
The promise of that was enough to send Akihiko dragging his feet towards the phone and disappearing with it into the kitchen. Leaving the two of them standing in the living room alone.  
  
Misaki was glancing at him furtively, like a student who’d skipped class and was afraid to ask about the assignment. “Kamijou-sensei… how do  _you_  know Nowaki?”  
  
“Ask him yourself.” The past two days had been filled with far too many heart-to-heart confrontations already without adding another to the list. “Brat, you know you can’t hide here forever.”  
  
The kid shrank back - if he started crying, Hiroki would leave then and there, promises to Akihiko be damned. “I know," he whispered.  
  
Hiroki sighed. “That’s not what I meant. Look, I know for a fact that he’s out there combing the streets worrying himself stupid looking for you. Go. Call him, whatever. Don’t drag it out.” ‘ _Like I would’_  went hopefully unheard.  
  
Misaki fidgeted, ducking his head. “I guess you’re right.” His cheeks were flushed. “…He’s really looking for me?”  
  
Hiroki scoffed. “You thought he wouldn’t be?” Obviously he was surrounded by idiots.  
  
He ruthlessly squashed the tiny voice that suggested they weren’t the  _only_  idiots in the room.  
  
That same light had bloomed in those green eyes, though – the same light he’d seen in a familiar pair of blues the night before. Hope and resolve and stubbornness.  
  
They would both be fine after all.  
  
“Right. Right! Um, I think I should get going,” Misaki said, fumbling to collect what few things he’d brought with him. “Thanks, Kamijou-sensei. Ah, sorry about the inconvenience. If you could tell Usagi-san for me…”  
  
“Yes, sure, fine,” Hiroki dismissed irritably. Infuriatingly, the kid  _beamed_  at him. Clearly he was losing his touch.  
  
The kid slipped on his shoes. “A word of advice,” Hiroki added suddenly. Misaki paused, glancing back. “Medical types don’t have a lot of time. They work strange hours, and some days they won’t come home at all. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, no matter what plans you make, expect to spend them alone. If you can’t handle that… it’s not worth it. Save yourself the agony now and let go.”  
  
The kid’s face lit up with an expression determined enough to shift boulders. “I won’t!”  
  
Then he was gone, at last, the door slamming shut behind him. Hopefully for good.  
  
“That was kind of you,” Akihiko murmured, arms winding around his waist.  
  
Hiroki stiffened for a moment – a reflex that would probably take a while to beat down. “You heard that?” Then, belatedly, “Just looking after my own interests, that’s all.”  
  
A huff of laughter brushed against his ear. “I dealt with Aikawa. She won’t be dropping by for the rest of today.”  
  
It was a comment heavy with promise. And again, Hiroki couldn’t help but tense against it.  
  
Akihiko must have felt it, but he didn’t comment, just stood there until eventually Hiroki relaxed against him once more.  
  
Patient. Supportive. And far, far too understanding.  
  
He’d seen that sort of devotion before. Having it directed at him, though? “This is going to take some adjustment, you realise,” Hiroki muttered.  
  
“Whatever you need.”  
  
Maybe it wouldn’t work out. The odds were against him. Maybe this time, it would break him for good.  
  
Maybe this time, though…  
  
“I keep my promises, Hiroki,” Akihiko murmured into his hair. “Until the day you don’t want me anymore.”  
  
And that, more than anything else, was what made Hiroki want to believe him.  
  
“Idiot,” he muttered. “A promise like that needs two people. Don’t go making it on your own.” He laced their fingers together and closed his eyes, and let himself hope. “I promise too.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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